


One Melody Away

by Pitycup_hearts



Category: Mo Dao Zu Shi, The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Like serious OOC, M/M, OOC, Slow Burn, i'm not crying you're crying, idol boys, idol xiao xingchen, rapper xue yang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-08-13 16:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitycup_hearts/pseuds/Pitycup_hearts
Summary: Brought up on the streets, xue yang finally receives his first contract into the music world. Learning from thievery and desperation, he tumbles up the music ladder though inelegantly. Now he has bigger troubles: rent. He's not selling well enough to pay rent. The last thing he wants is to end out in the streets again. Solution? A collaboration. Looks like idol Xiao Xingchen wants to duet with him, but xue yang's after something larger, the man's funds.Unfortunately, Xiao Xingchen has something in mind as well. He's not ready to allow Xue Yang to walk out of his life, and will go through extents to keep him if it means that he'll remember the song they sung together.





	1. Rent

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side story with a xue yang focus from my other story "I Am the Yiling Patriarch." You do not have to read the other to understand ♥. This is my first xuexiao or xiaoxue (idk yet) fiction, please no roasting.

This was it. He had finally been untangled from the streets, from pavement floors littered with trivial garbage and the occasional feces. No longer did he take in the scent of maneuver and swat his tired hands against the bodies of persistent mosquitos. No longer was his vision agitated by the dance of gnats, the buzz of flies in his ears, the itch up his arms and legs, gone. Those years had left their mark on him, a tenacious memory of dehydration migraines and an officer dressed in fine authority that said, “kid, you can’t sleep here.” Then where could he sleep? Had anyone ever thought about where it was this kid could sleep? This kid had been thirteen and homeless, moneyless, itching and dirty. All he had left was the ability to feel hunger and fatigue and he recalled it as though it was his name, like it was a part of it, a part of him.

He had other worries now. Someone, Yi music label, had startled him from lethargic reveries, put a bottle of coca cola in his left hand, a straw in the other and they had said, “let’s sit over there.” He recalled the pure happiness of having a brand-named beverage in his hand, the bottle frosty with condensation running along his muddy palm. The summer heat had rushed red to his cheeks and perspiration to his body where his clothing clung, or what was left of it, a ragged tank top with cargo shorts that had kissed dirt floors and its share of body muck. When he had glanced in the direction that the strange older man pointed, he took notice to a seat. An actual table with a chair, and someone had invited him to sit in it.

He must’ve still smelled pretty bad.

But he knew very much to respect men in suits. Money, he knew, spoke in pompous prose and faux smiles under powerful noses, a moustache sometimes. This man didn’t have a moustache, but he did have a suit, and he did hand him a coca cola, and he couldn’t wait to drink it. When would be appropriate? Before he was disowned, his mother had never told him when it was that he should take from others, and being on the streets, he thought it meant always. He didn’t wait, popping the can open with the tiny top and sticking his straw in.

It wasn’t at all sweet, but it wasn’t bitter; rather, it was a mixture and really strong on his tongue. His taste buds recoiled but his belly released a skirmish of noises.

Hunger. _Again_? He was incessantly hungry, hungry before he slept, hungry when he awoke, hungry even after that. Because he never fed it. Being _not_ hungry meant having food.

“Xue Yang, right?” The man took him from his thoughts, pulling the seat opposite of him, inviting him to take a seat like his smell didn’t offend anyone. Someone looked at Xue Yang with distorted disgust on their faces, but it calmed when they took notice to a man in a suit. Xue Yang gripped the chair armrests, but for just a second, he felt safe to sit there, safe enough to pretend he was like those people. Those people had fine clothing, they ate every day, had milk for their bones, candy for their cravings, money for whatever people used money for. Xue Yang knew he’d use it for candy. A kind boy had always given him a candy when he saw him. The boy had been sad but sad with two candies. Xue Yang decided to call him a friend.

“The people on the streets say you’ve quite a reputation,” the man said, and Xue Yang stood up, ready to run. Men with suits meant men in fine authority uniforms with hats and red and blue lights on their cars. Xue Yang didn’t ever want to be delivered in one of those vehicles, moving prison chambers, chambers that said, “this boy should be put away.”

He didn’t want to be put away. He wanted another 8 ounce bottle of coca cola. He’d even use the same straw. He’d promise.

“No need to run, only good things, only good things,” the man told him, a kind smile on his face. Xue Yang narrowed his baby eyes of grey, slowly leveling his dirty body back into the seat.

“I’m a recruiter from Yi labels. Word on this street is that you like to spit.”

_Rapping, _Xue Yang thought. His stomach felt funny all of the sudden, a giggle perhaps from his intestines that said: “recognize me, I’m good!” Instead, he parted his lips and said, “maybe.”

“How maybe are we talking?” The man asked, amusement on the curl of his lips. Xue Yang wore that curls sometimes, wore it when he was going to steal. He had nothing for this man to steal. He quickly sipped the rest of the coca cola before the man thought to take it back.

“Very maybe.”

That is what he had said during that time. That incident had been six years ago. He would never regret it, signing his first record deal and selling his first ever single EP, but that didn’t exactly pay for his newly acquired responsibility: rent. He resided in a quaint little apartment with the bare necessities, for entering the industry hadn’t promised him riches. He was fine with that, but not fine with the rent nearing him and even his humble years of experience in stealth thievery didn’t want to take back to begging in the streets.

Nope. He had better chances. Now rising in the music world, having just debuted three years ago, he had had time to recognize what a parental figure looked like: a big big big build called Yi label and a boss man he never saw that said: “train him.” He had been thirteen when he was trained, debuted when he was sixteen, and now nineteen meant he had some money for bare necessities. CANDY, his first ever EP, sold a little better than what he had originally expected.

_ Good, _he thought, for he had lost a friend when he told him to kill himself. Not really, he had said, “_it’s okay if you want to go. I’ll go after.” _But he never did. He was still here, and now bought himself candies, but couldn’t buy friends.

Not many people noticed him, it seemed, but someone finally did.

Pop idol Xiao Xingchen, three years his senior, had sent a proposal to him that requested a collaboration. One or two things could happen: he could use the collaboration to pay for his rent, because the company was going to take a large portion, or he could choose the better option, an option that promised more than just bare necessities. Xiao Xingchen had money, a lot of it. He just needed to reach his tiny tired hands in and take some, or a lot of it. He didn’t need friends.


	2. Be Honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xue Yang felt a knot in his throat. His heart was beating wildly against his ribcage as though soon it would begin to break the branches. In his hand, he could feel the crinkling plastic material wrapped around a little body of sweetness. He didn’t have to look at it to know what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Xue Yang raps, LMAO.  
Please don't smash my stuff. I've been to like, one spoken word ever in my life 😂😂😂  
Btw, I don't have a beta so there's probably mistakes. . .

His new father, the big big boss man, and the big big building, Yi label, had given him a lot of thought. They thought it would be a great idea to accept the proposal though Xue Yang had already chosen to agree without their assistance. The prospect of meeting such an elite individual sent a rush up his spine. Xiao Xingchen was basically a veteran figure. How long had he been in the industry? Since he was rather young, perhaps gripping at ten and three years. Excitement rushed a smile to Xue Yang’s face at the thought for he had also been thirteen when neglect shook from his ragged clothing and put him in a bathtub. Had this veteran, this Xiao Xingchen also been thirteen when he walked his pristine tailored shirt onto the stage?

Xue Yang had to admit that he had never heard a single one of the man’s songs. He had heard many alterations of it sung from strangers’ lips as they carelessly butchered it in the streets. It had been wrapped in female sopranos and school boy tongues and even hummed in the throat of an elder. He had known, because Xiao Xingchen was incessantly the talk of the streets. Imagine, aimless conversation about a rich man while Xue Yang was sitting before their feet with a cup in his hand and two words in his mouth, “anything helps.”

He had been ignored and that was okay. No one recognized him anymore anyway. His hair was growing longer, reaching a little over his ears, his posture improved, he didn’t smell god awful, you could actually make out his features under all of that muck.

“Oh, you’re quite handsome,” big big boss man had said. Xue Yang didn’t know better. His reply had been the following: “shut the hell up.”

Now, as he waited in the lobby to meet Xiao Xingchen, he found himself tapping his foot impatiently. Maybe the man could discern exactly how the word amateur stuck out of Xue Yang’s pointed ears or the one fang he had that snuck in his smiles. Or maybe he’d see directly through his amiable guise and recognize that he was going to “adopt some funds.” Xue Yang bore his fingers into his palm, causing little indentions to appear and the white on his knuckles to become prominent. Suddenly, someone touched him lightly on the shoulder, and he was up on his feet instantly, backing against the lobby table to avoid proximity. Two hands had come up in front of him as though he was ready for conflict when he saw a charming good humored face with light eyes.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, friend. You are Xue Yang, correct?” There was only one direction Xue Yang couldn’t discerned his voice. He instantly decided that it caused the impulse in his legs to get him away from there, but he stayed put, raising his chin ever lightly to challenge it. The other seemed to only think that the chin raise meant acknowledgement the way hip hop individuals must’ve donned.

“Wonderful. I’m Xiao XingChen, it’s very pleasant to meet you. Please forgive my dialect, I am not from here,” the man said to him, taking one of Xue Yang’s raised hands and gently shaking it. Xue Yang surrendered the palm the man entirely, but his own eyes brought down the eyelids as a glare escaped. He recalled exactly what it was that the man reminded him of: candy. He was like a sweet little sugar cube in his mouth. The taste of candy had always been temporary. Xue Yang took a breath of fresh air and spit it off his tongue.

“No prob’, mate. Well, nice to meet you. I’ve heard a shitton about you,” Xue Yang said. At his words, Xiao Xingchen smiled as though amused. It caused an instant twitch on the younger man’s lip. In truth, Xue Yang never heard much about anything except the fragments of societal information that came from his sources: the people who ignored him on the street. He learned far more important matters on his own, where the street gangs resided, where the wild dogs were, where the child traffickers usually frequented, which shop’s display was actually edible, and where to urinate where he wouldn’t be shamed for. Big big boss man had given him a few words on Xiao XingChen along the lines of, “don’t wreck this shit, Yang.”

Xue Yang decided that he was going to exactly wreck this shit.

As the two spoke, he learned a few things, Xiao Xingchen was actually four years his senior and had debuted at nine, not thirteen. At this, Xue Yang pinched his lips together. Nine had been the age he was thrown from his home and forced to live in the streets. His family had abandoned him while Xiao Xingchen had elaborately became a prodigy. And next to him, Xue Yang was a little thing, a thing four years younger. What was it like to be an adult? He was almost there but the mischief under his nose never left the way his smile manifested. He also could stomach the fact that the man was so _humble_. He didn’t like to talk about himself as if his details were a secret, secrets that shunned Xue Yang and said: “you’re an amateur nineteen year old,” or possibly, “don’t steal my money. I’m onto you.”

Paranoia. Xue Yang shook it off quickly before it found his cheek tint. Xiao Xingchen didn’t seem to give any indication that he had caught on, so Xue Yang smiled, causing the other to smile too. The entire time, Xue Yang waited for the man to say, “kiddo,” the way he hated, but it never came. It was decided that the two would do their work separately and then return to each other with the material, but they exchanged information “just in case.”

That night, Xue Yang went home to his apartment and stared at the coming bill form with exhaustion. It was as if speaking to Xiao Xingchen should’ve in itself given him a few coins to relieve some of this responsibility. His apartment wasn’t even that expensive. He supposed Xiao Xingchen’s home must’ve been quite fucking fancy. Instead of holding his funds more adequately, he brought himself to the CD shop and bought one of the man’s singles to tarnish his thoughts and strengthen his motivation.

It was late when he received the text message from Xiao XingChen. Of course, Xue Yang was still awake, but why was the other? The message simply said, “I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I’m really excited about the collaboration.”

Xue Yang couldn’t help but roll his eyes in irritation. What he wanted to ask in return was, “how much do you have in your bank account?” Before he could muster up some false sense of curtesy, another message came in.

“Just be completely honest.”

Xue Yang’s stomach twisted causing his heart to skip a beat. He was sure if that happened three times in a row, he would’ve adopted a stroke and died on the spot. Had he been found out? Before he had even done anything?

_Shit, he’s just talking about the lyrics, _he realized, trying to sooth his heart by patting his chest with relief. He nodded at the phone as though the man could see the reply. No one ever wanted Xue Yang to be honest. Big big boss man had strictly told him to leave all of that bitterness out of his lyrics, but to also be authentic. In return, Xue Yang had asked, “how the fuck do I do that?”

Xue Yang had a lot of hostility. He genuinely couldn’t think of his parents, the night of, packing everything up, leaving him in his room as they moved without him. He had woken up to empty rooms and hallways with a FOR SALE sign on his porch. His room still held all of his belongings, and thinking of it now, he hoped to God the new owner burned it to hell. He wasn’t much of a person at nine anyway. At least now he could call himself a man, or an almost man. He was almost there. The nerve of Xiao fucking XingChen to be an adult while he wallowed over the one more year of rent responsibilities where he was still a minor.

\---

When the two met again, it was another three weeks later when Xue Yang’s hands shook with his own lyrics. He wasn’t sure if this was appropriate. This was Xiao Xingchen. What would he think of it? The rhythm and the melodies had been discussed, all that was left was putting it together. Xiao Xingchen had taken the sheets of paper gently, handing him his own. Xue Yang hated reading the poetic language of lyrics, but he swallowed every word. When he looked up, Xiao Xingchen had a smile on his lips.

“I’ve taken notice that you seem to always mention candy in your lyrics. Your first two singles, CANDY, and LOLLIPOP, and even here do you mention it.”

_It’s the least I could do, _Xue Yang thought, the image of his friend sprawled out in his own blood, arms outstretched, unable to catch his fall. Xue Yang had not been there. Xue Yang had been in his studio recording until it was deemed adequate. He let him down and eventually the boy had fallen. Xue Yang was supposed to be on the same building, hand in hand, jumping with him. That was the promise, wasn’t it?

He forgot to answer Xiao Xingchen, staring off into the distance before Xiao Xingchen brought him into the studio. As the melody started, Xue Yang listened though withdrawn. His chest sank inward thinking of candies in the street, thinking about the last thing he had said when Xiao Xingchen parted his lips to sing.

_Do the seasons bring me petals_

_ Do they take them away_

_ I flutter aimlessly waiting_

_ Winter frosts me to ice_

_ I remove a mask in Autumn_

_ In Spring my tears flutter the skies_

_ In Summer I attach myself to branches_

_ When will I be free to roam_

_ To roam the streets with you?_

Xue Yang felt his own eyes begin to burn. Nothing slipped free, but he could discern the way his lashes stuck together after he blinked. It was like he had been waiting for someone to walk along the dusty road with him. He’d flutter in the breeze as it took him in circles, dancing into cracks in the wall, freezing with his loneliness, changing faces around others the way leaves changed color, crying everything he had ever held in, attaching his feet back on and telling himself to stand back up. He took a deep breath and waited for his queue. When Xiao Xingchen finished the next set of verses, Xue Yang started.

_When I was younger, they told me that pain would make me stronger_

_ Enclosed in that sorta’ envelope I only knew to stay but longer_

_ I do many things, because I was young though I had been younger_

_ All of those approaches, damn I can’t but wonder_

_ Who’s the master? Who’d I conquer? _

_ When I was younger, yeah, they had me questioning my worth_

_ Stuck in a slumber, rubbed my eyes, started questioning my birth_

_ Am I worthy, where in life can I get the big-big happy?_

_ Should I curtsy, was I too dirty, guess I was too trashy_

_ Better build that social capital if I was ever the suppressor_

_ But wasn’t I the one you hated, ain’t I quite the distressor?_

_ Plug me in, I’m the oppressor, I am that which is better_

_ But these memories, they get hard, don’t they?_

_ When did I become the repressor? _

_ The professor of intellect, my successor is lesser than my muse_

_ He was the antecessor, the best of all yet couldn’t pay those dues_

_ Call me malicious if you will, I’m fact to your fictitious_

_ They’ll put me away one day for good they’ll call it judicious_

_ Fall off my throne while they tell me I sure was vicious _

_ You’re more suspicious than you claim to be propitious_

_ I’m just waiting for a real one to lick and tell me _

_ It’s just candy, tell me it’s delicious_

_ I’m just waiting for a real one to give a shit and tell me_

_ It’s just candy, it can be nutritious _

Xiao Xingchen smiled when they left the studio. He took something out of his pocket and handed it to Xue Yang before they left parted ways to master the pieces. Xue Yang felt a knot in his throat. His heart was beating wildly against his ribcage as though soon it would begin to break the branches. In his hand, he could feel the crinkling plastic material wrapped around a little body of sweetness. He didn’t have to look at it to know what it was. Instead, he looked in the mirror at himself and questioned who he thought he was.


	3. LOLLIPOP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The look on his face made Xue Yang want nothing more than to snatch it off and wrap it in candy wrapper. Expressions like that were bittersweet.

Xue Yang sat behind the stage, consternation resting on his eyebrows. Over the years, he had certainly reaped a bit more intelligence than was mostly appropriate for someone as primitive as himself. Instead of taking to pockets and purses for pecuniary means, he now took to the keys of a laptop, little gadgets he’d attach to himself. He wasn’t a genius, but he certainly knew a bit more than a thief should’ve been allowed. He could always improve, but Xue Yang was a rather petty individual. Besides, he was sure the entire ordeal was going to blow up in his face.

Xiao Xingchen went to sit beside him, laughing as a lady worried at the makeup on his face the entire excursion. Xue Yang felt dull inside and out, hands on his lap while he sat criss cross in a rather small chair. When the lady started applying more powders to Xue Yang’s face, he wanted to squat her away if not for the fact that it was making the older man laugh.

_This guy is so easily amused, _he thought, shoulders rigid, legs stiff. He didn’t know what he was thinking accepting the proposal to collaborate with someone like Xiao Xingchen. Did he not know who he was? Could he be so earnest in his music and not have someone tell him, “you’re depressing.” In reality, Xue Yang wasn’t depressing, he was depressed. He wanted to shake it from his bones, tell everyone he was “one hunnet,” but he didn’t believe it. He felt like his parents left him, that he belonged on the streets, that he was a petty thief and ready to do it again.

“Are you ready, A-Yang?” Xiao Xingchen asked him suddenly, a soft hand on his shoulder. Xue Yang’s eyes widened, not at the touch, Xiao Xingchen for whatever reason always put a hand on his shoulder. The name.

_What did you call me? _He wanted to ask, turning to gaze at him slowly. Xiao Xingchen tugged playfully at him to remove him from the chair.

“Well, if you sit there who’s going to rap for me? I hope you don’t want me to do it myself. I don’t know how,” the older man laughed, walking him towards the stage.

_Wait, no, what did you call me? _Xue Yang was still thinking as his feet brought him along. Xiao Xingchen smelled of ocean breezes and light mint. For some apparent reason, Xue Yang decided to sniff him like that made the ordeal better.

“Apologies. I was sweating from the heat outside earlier. I must offend, mustn’t I?” Xiao Xingchen asked, earning another reason to laugh. Seriously, he laughed at anything.

_You shouldn’t be worried about stinking! _I _should be worried about stinking! _Because Xue Yang used to smell god fucking awful. Xiao Xingchen smelled amazing. How could he worry about such a thing?

_Did you call me A-Yang? Did you? A-Yang? _Xue Yang was thinking, his hope clinging onto something so small that he could’ve missed it himself. The thought of someone giving such a familial term to him made his heart strings strum with a melody that swallowed Xiao Xingchen’s lyrics and said, “roam the streets with me.” Instead of listening to it, Xue Yang tapped a signal on his phone that would put everything into play. Slowly but surely, all of the tickets sold would go directly into his bank account and he would get the hell out of there. Not as A-Yang but as Xue Yang.

\---

Xue Yang was accustomed to sharing things when he thought fit; he did after all, have to hog most things as someone who lived on the streets. That was six years ago and he knew better, stepping out onto the stage during his queue, Xiao Xingchen’s manager eyeing him suspiciously. No, it wasn’t suspicious, it was distasteful. It said to him, “you don’t deserve this.” In truth, Xue Yang certainly had done nothing to deserve a collaboration with the Xiao Xingchen, but he wasn’t going to be pushed under another hierarchy, so he smiled with his fang on his way out.

The audience had never heard of him. They, nicely dressed girls in every variety of dress, every variety of natural makeup looks and deeper smokie eye looks, tight clothing to casual Lolita attire. Guys scattered at random, dress shirts and nice corduroy pants, t-shirts and distressed jeans, nice nice nice sneakers. Xue Yang was almost swallowed up by the audience, his vision taking to them separately. He almost wished that he was near sighted so that he could address his attention accordingly. Still, his shoulders had been square, he had put a hand on Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder, had radiated the stage with his presence and it had said, “I am not an amateur,” had said, “I belong here.” The audience had erupted into a mass of cacophony, and Xue Yang had a large smile on his face, ear to ear, unable to wipe it away. For just a moment, his eyes glistened, and he wanted to think that he had made it, his dreams had been touched by his fingertips; he had left his mark. That was the memory he had before he snickered in the face of the officer at his front porch, rolled his eyes a Xiao Xingchen as he was walking into the station for the man had been waiting there. The nerve of him to appear all of the sudden like he had something to say. If he wasn’t so stupid, perhaps Xue Yang wouldn’t have been able to steal from him.

It had barely been a week before he was found out, and looking at the material now, Xue Yang knew what he did wrong and wasn’t prepared to make that mistake again in case he thought to try this gimmick again someday. Apparently, what he thought was an infraction wasn’t even a misdemeanor but a felony. He laughed into his fist, knowing he would at least do a few years for the amount of yuan he had accumulated from the live. Class D felony, and Xue Yang had no idea what that meant. He wasn’t going to deny the fact that he had taken the money considering he obviously had it. He used a tiny piece, not even a dent, to pay his rent and breathe.

Now he was going to jail. He found the ordeal hilarious. Roughly somewhere between 175,000 RMB and 250,000 because Xiao XingChen fans had money to waste to stand at one of the largest venues in all of Beijing, that’s what he now had. He had been so overwhelmed with the number, that he had simply left it there, buying a pepsi at the corner store and then going home to read a comic. He couldn’t fathom how people functioned with so much money. A big part of him wanted to give it back, not because he was guilty, but because it was much more than he had needed. Who knew concert tickets would reach around 3800 RMB? Who had that sort of money? His rent in itself was around 5,900 RMB. His own tickets had only cost 150 RMB per the one, and there weren’t different seating options, just bodies filing into a stuffy bar venue. It hardly exceeded 63 people by its lonesome. The venue had taken ten percent leaving him roughly with 8500 RMB. The company took fifteen percent, leaving him with around 7200 fucking yuan and he had to pay for the tickets he didn’t sell so he didn’t even have enough for rent.

Prison would give him a breather. He needed someone to take care of him until he could stand on his feet again. But his stomach curled in itself to think that his name would now be tainted by something like a felony. It was a funny sort of a feeling, not terrible, not great, but there nevertheless.

_Don’t show fear, _that’s what he had learned in the streets. He turned to smirk at the officer, one fang showing within his lips.

“Strap me down, Officer. Tell that bitch, Xingchen, he can have his coins. Whatever the hell he’s going to do with that much money, fuck him. Give me my cell,” and for some reason he was pouting all of the sudden. Xiao Xingchen had lives all the time; he’d easily make that money back. On the other hand, Xue Yang’s jaw had dropped so low when he saw the amount, he thought he had dislocated it. How could the man report him like that?

_I thought we were friends, _Xue Yang thought for a moment. Then added, _bitch. _As he was escorted out of the station to head downtown, he walked past Xiao Xingchen again, his hands cuffed behind his back.

“Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen whispered. The look on his face made Xue Yang want nothing more than to snatch it off and wrap it in candy wrapper. Expressions like that were bittersweet. How annoying.

“You mad?” Xue Yang laughed at him, being sure to bump him in the shoulder on his way out. Xiao Xingchen furrowed his eyebrows in return, seeing the kid’s fang and distorted expression. He found himself taking a step backward.

“It’s just a few bucks, _Loashi_, you can spare some,” Xue Yang continued with his sinister voice, something he had learned to cultivate during his days on the streets. It came from far in his throat, skipping his diaphragm entirely, so that when he used it, it hurt a bit. Unnatural. But he sounded strong, vicious, like he belonged below the ground, not dead but in hell.

Xiao Xingchen reached out to him when he was planted in the police vehicle, body in, head careful not to hit the top of the entrance, eyes averted, that minatory expression under his depressed fringe. His face was clouded by the shadow of them like a haunted spirit wouldn’t leave his shoulders. Xiao Xingchen could only think of how it felt to be surrendered to the darkness.

Lonely.

If misery wanted company, Xue Yang had taken no one with him. He had said, “you can spare some.” The wording was interesting. Not everyone would have used that same manner of speech and order. Spare some. Like he had needed it, not wanted it.

\---

Having had resided in prison for four years, Xue Yang was free for a year, a year where he released two albums, and six singles. He was working hard, assembling everything he had worked on when times were silenced, and his prison mates had slumbered. He would stay awake days on end just listening to how quiet it would become, how dark it could get, how the prison felt like one large cell. Fortunately for Xue Yang, he amused many of his prison mates who decided to offer him protection from rival groups. They enjoyed listening to him “spit” and would often tell him to free style as they banged their fists against cafeteria tables for some impression of a rhythm.

His name was starting to appear in the billboards, but he wasn’t earnest with himself. Much of his verses resembled things that the big big boss man agreed to. He had come back and asked why the man didn’t give up on him, and the man had replied with the following: “Can you still rap?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t ‘sir’ me, get in there and rap.”

And that’s how that went. It was his second album that he met a rather kind man, Mr. Song, he called him, Song Lan. The man was almost five years his senior and appropriated himself as Xue Yang’s manager. Xue Yang asked no questions. He could use someone who was willing to sort out his finances and bookings. He realized now that he wasn’t allowed into some of the venues for the incident.

Grudge, he called it, but it made sense. They were afraid he’d commit another felony, and he had none up his sleeve. No one knew that prison had changed him. He didn’t either, until he realized how quiet he would get as if he was still waiting for the quiet to touch him, the darkness to brush his shoulders. His ears filled with cotton, his throat dry, a drought on the inside like his spirit left him too. But he was making money now, had to remind himself. Money was important. It was the thing he didn’t have before, that thing. He needed to make as much of it as possible.

Mr. Song wasn’t the kindest person in the world. He certainly knew that Xue Yang was problematic. The first thing he had ever said to Xue Yang was, “fix your face,” because Xue Yang had been wearing his safety guard, a smile that showed his fang and disastrous eyes that weren’t as scared as he felt.

Today on a rather cloudy day, Mr. Song marched up to Xue Yang’s apartment, unlocked his door and pulled him out of bed by his ankles. Xue Yang hit the ground with a groan but knew the drill. It meant that they had received a last minute call to make an appearance, and would not be late late late. He stood up dowsed with his sleepy eyes and hurting joints, throwing his arms up to stretch until his back made a tiny crack sound and he officially thought he broke. Yawning, he dragged his legs to the bathroom to “fix” himself the way Mr. Song ordered him to.

“And, Xue Yang?”

“Yes? Now what?” Xue Yang whined, toothbrush in his mouth and his hair everywhere but neat. The mint in his mouth burned his tongue enough to wake him in order to notice the serious expression on his manager’s face.

“Xiao XingChen will be there, so behave yourself.”

“I’m the king of behave,” Xue Yang said, trying to balance the toothbrush in his mouth through his smile. Mr. Song shook his head, taking to tidying the house as if he would ever have guests.

When they appeared behind stage, Xue Yang could see the group of elite individuals, a term he now used, perched in seats on stage. He hated these sort of events, but he was told to walk in performing. Apparently every artist needed to perform their way in, an entrance, they had called it. Xue Yang swallowed hard, but he wasn’t nervous. He was accustomed to growing crowds, and he had seen it all four years ago. He pulled his pants up, his shirt down and stepped on the stage.

“Don’t say too much. Give us the gist of what you feel and nothing more. We’re not therapists,” is what big big boss man said. So Xue Yang gave the following from his EP, LOLLIPOP.

_I tread on water while this bitch gets the ground_

_When both of us are talking, yeah, I don’t hear a sound_

_I started kicking my feet because I think that I drowned_

_You didn’t help me swim though so I think you can go_

_You got all of that money but isn’t it all for show?_

_Walking all but anywhere it’s just to and fro_

_This one’s for the industry – with that sort of mentality_

_I’d hate to bring up the technicality_

_Take this for the imagery – but the neutrality has no cordiality_

_I said it’s angry as fuck as loud as my mind, the brutality_

_It’s during those times when there’s no sobriety FIX_

_Me, A few drinks, Me, a variety, throw it together, MIX_

_You think I’m done but I’ve still a few tricks_

_It’s that sort of society, where did I go wrong?_

_Fuck your dubiety, let me finish this song_

_And if you don’t wanna’ come, I’ll drag you along_

_I’ll give you a few treats, you’ll tell me it’s sweets_

_Don’t you block my vision, call me a cheat_

_Throw me up and down, give me a beat_

_I’ll throw you a verse like a lollipop_

_Come to a full stop, I’m back on top_

_Yet you weren’t ready to taste a cough drop_

The artists present looked almost aghast with distaste, shocked that a rapper was taking to their idol stage. Xue Yang pulled his eyelids lazily over his eyes, thinking about where he would sit, certainly not near Xiao Xingchen, when he noticed an unfamiliar face. A man sat beside the Lan Xichen, a performer that had gained popularity while Xue Yang pressed his face against the bars for the aesthetic. Lan Xichen wasn’t the person that swallowed his attention, but rather a guy with long black hair that had a red streak. He adorned a tattoo sleeve on his left arm of lotus flowers, purple water color as a backdrop. He had tapped the seat beside him and told Xue Yang to sit next to him, putting a hand up so they could smash fists. Xue Yang almost felt warm inside, but his safe guard was still up. He knew the people present were suspicious with him, and he avoided Xiao Xingchen’s gaze. When he bumped fists with the man, he did it with the hand with rings, hitting really hard for no reason. The streets had taught him to scare people away. The other man grinned really wide, showing him a hand full of rings as well. In front of his booth was a sign that said GUEST, meaning he wasn’t an idol. Xue Yang raised an eyebrow at him.

“Wei WuXian, Brother Lan’s back up dancer,” the man said. Xue Yang liked him instantly. In no world would a backup dancer appear on the same stage for an idol event. What type of audacity did someone have to carry to exhibit that sort of confidence? When Xue Yang walked closer to him, he felt Xiao Xingchen’s gaze but didn’t meet it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene with Wei Ying does happen in my other fanfic with a wangxian focus. Hereafter, Wei Ying will become more prominent. I need a bit competition... hehe.  
Btw, this chapter was kinda long, wasn't it? Let me know if you prefer longer or shorter chapters!  
Also, the story is in a span of nine years, so we're going to be jumping time like A LOT. Not a slow burn without reason, lmao (*´∀｀*)ノ~☆  
Come chat story ideas! Here's [My twitter](https://twitter.com/Pitycup_hearts) ♥


	4. A Promise is a Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Song had said not to overdo it the way he usually did. Mr. Song had said not to climb in bed with anyone the way he usually did. Mr. Song said ‘watch your drink,’ the way he usually did. Mr. Song had said he was famous now so ‘be careful,’ the way he usually did. Mr. Song had said many things and for some apparent reason Xue Yang could remember none of it.

Xue Yang lifted an eyebrow, his right one, something he could do that most people couldn’t. Sitting in his seat, legs apart, hand resting between his thighs, back lazed into a slouch, he found himself somewhat tickled by the jab of amusement when the host stated all of their names again. Xue Yang had apparently been the finale, the last guest. That wasn’t what amused him, instead, it came suddenly when Wei Wuxian’s name was announced and the crowd belched out a roar of applause.

_He’s not looking to be a backup dancer for long, _Xue Yang thought, his fang emerging where his lips curled. What troubled him was the way that Wei Wuxian _looked_; he didn’t _look_ like he belonged in the idol world. He certainly didn’t look like he knew Lan Xichen, who Xue Yang couldn’t even identify until he saw the names on the desk. He had to peep around Wei Wuxian to peer at the names disruptively.

“You killed it,” Wei Wuxian whispered to him, because apparently his shoulders were really rigid and his hand was so tightly embedded into the surface of his seat that it creased. Xue Yang looked up at him, his guard crawling over his eyes again. His stance relaxed, maybe a bit too much to be deemed natural.

“Killer’s my middle name,” Xue Yang joked, because it wasn’t. His middle name was supposed to be ‘behave,’ and he could almost sense Mr. Song’s glare into the back of his neck or directly in his face. He had no idea where the man was watching from.

“Gotta’ get the blood on your hands,” Wei Wuxian joked in return. The only word Xue Yang could’ve used to describe the man was that he was _red_. It wasn’t an evil red, but a seductive bleeding red, the one that flowed through your veins and dripped from a cut, the one you brought your lips to and sucked. Xue Yang watched him with careful eyes, but the man’s expression was a daze of pleasure and confidence. Nothing about him wrung alarmingly except that Lan Xichen had a lot coming if he thought he was going to overshadow him.

That’s what Xue Yang needed, that same confidence and its defense. The fact that Xue Yang wore many faces had kept him secure. He wondered how long he could wear it before everything burst in his face.

He could sense Xiao Xingchen’s gaze in his direction. He found an evil grin was beginning its stages under his own nose, until it took over his expression entirely and he appeared to be a wicked thing, safe. He decided to challenge the man, turning to face him with that expression despite his age residing as the inferior. Xue Yang was never the inferior, never again. Xiao Xingchen averted his gaze immediately, smiling at something only God could tell Xue Yang. The man pretended, playing at his nonchalance, playing at that stupid stupid stupid smile he always wore on his face. He had given that face to Xue Yang too, and the boy was not a fool. It wouldn’t fool him. It was a pity look, and Xue Yang would destroy anyone who gave him such an expression.

_I’ll rise, _Xue Yang thought. _Above all of you, I swear. _

The event was infused with insipid yet entertaining gimmicks, minute trivia questions that Xue Yang couldn’t answer for the life of him. Fortunately for him, he was paired with Wei Wuxian who was ridiculously smart. Xiao Xingchen was paired up with that teen idol Ah-Qing. She had tried her best on the questions, but she carried little years and met confusion on many of them by which she was saved from getting spurted in the face by Xiao Xingchen. Wei Wuxian had saved Xue Yang at least four times from being spurted in the face for his incorrect responses. Lan Xichen was paired up with some man whose name Xue Yang couldn’t remember. When the game concluded, Xue Yang was sprayed in the face at least once, and his small group of fans had screamed. They seemed to still harbor their cute little squeals now that his hair was soaking wet. He ran his fingers along his scalp to pull his dripping bangs from his eyes, shrinking a bit when his fans let out another scream. The host came to hand him a towel to dry himself and he took it gladly.

“Someone has a lot of fans,” Wei Wuxian said to him. At first Xue Yang thought it to be mockery until he noticed that the little group he had thought of in the previous was a bit larger than he had imagined. Girls wearing his t-shirt, a grey and black shirt that had a large XY across the chest and tour dates on the back. Many of them carried little signs that said “KILL EM’ XUE FAM.” Xue fam, the name he had given his fans. He found himself succumbing under the weight of a genuine smile, one that hid his fang and showed his innocent dimples.

When he looked back at Wei Wuxian, the man pretended that he hadn’t seen such an expression on him. He realized that they would eventually meet again.

_When we’re both on top, I’ll see you again, _Xue Yang thought. One day the audience would fill with Xue Fam. One day he’d have a tour called ‘Xue nation.’ One day his tickets would cost as much as Xiao fucking Xingchen’s and everyone would remember he stole money but made it all back. Xue Yang was invincible. But until then, he was twenty-three and made a friend. Xiao Xingchen was not one of them.

\---

He was twenty-four when it happened. He had released a single and went to the bar that night the way he usually did to celebrate by himself. Mr. Song had said not to overdo it the way he usually did. Mr. Song had said not to climb in bed with anyone the way he usually did. Mr. Song said ‘watch your drink,’ the way he usually did. Mr. Song had said he was famous now so ‘be careful,’ the way he usually did. Mr. Song had said many things and for some apparent reason Xue Yang could remember none of it. His memories returned to him in little bits as an officer pulled him from a hotel room, a young girl crying beside him in bed, her clothes sprawled out on the floor. He had cloaked himself in a robe and was hauled off to the station, bewilderment and a daze of stars in his eyes. He could barely recall a single thing that happened that night. Dizziness.

Xue Yang was twenty-four to her seventeen.

Xue Yang had slept with a minor.

Xue Yang had drugged her drink.

Xue Yang had purchased a hotel room.

Xue Yang had raped her.

He looked dead in the judge’s face and claimed innocence. He didn’t do it. He could remember none of it, but he didn’t do it. He was sure he had looked at the girl’s ID. He _remembered_ checking. _Remembered_ her being 23. He had taken everything Mr. Song had said into consideration. He had _remembered_ all of it. Until right before he apparently drugged her and paid for the hotel room and pushed himself on top of her. He couldn’t even remember what the girl looked like. The night’s events began to fade away the more he thought of it.

The camera footage showed Xue Yang walking her from the club as she stumbled, obviously delirious. A cigarette was in his mouth as though he had done this everyday. The camera footage showed him swiping the credit card at the hotel. The camera footage showed his car in the parking lot.

He remembered none of it. Xue Yang was many things but he certainly was not a pedophile. He knew _something_ had happened, _something_ went wrong, _something_ was going on. He stood by his word and claimed innocence much to everyone’s disagreement. Everywhere Xue Yang walked now, an officer escorted him, cameras flashing, clicking, snapping, everywhere he went. Every news channel covered his stories though he attempted to hide his face. It was okay that they knew who he was, but they were not allowed to see his expression, how young and confused he looked. The cameras were endless. They blinded his vision and intellect until he nearly stumbled. The sensation was that of light pouring against him, showing his dark contrast to the world surrounding. He could hear his voice pleading from within for it to end.

Endless.

When he saw Mr. Song at the station, the man did not judge him. Instead, he pulled the young boy into an embrace and asked him if he was okay. Xue Yang could’ve cried but it wasn’t in his character, instead, he had squeezed and closed his eyes, wishing it would make everything go away.

Mr. Song put both his palms on Xue Yang’s cheeks and he whispered, “Whatever you do, do not plead guilty. You did _not_ do this, understand?”

Xue Yang nodded, but he did _not_ understand. He couldn’t remember if he did it or not. He didn’t know if he was guilty or not. Instead of saying this, he nodded again, watching the days go by as a wave of reporters met him after every visit to the courtroom.

“Guilty until proven innocent,” that was the way here. Nothing about the footage, about the evidence, proved Xue Yang innocent. It was barely an hour that escaped when the verdict was given, an hour before Xue Yang swallowed and closed his eyes at the words that left the Judge’s lips.

“Guilty.” That’s what they had said. Xue Yang exuded all of his innocence, all of his fear, his confusion and loneliness, in the time he had closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was fierce, was invincible, was Xue fucking Yang, and had opened his mouth to say, “I’m not fucking guilty.” He had to say it. Even as the case closed, the dictions taken, the officer walking him out, the reporters shoving mics in his direction, the heavy treads to his cell. He was placed in the protected wing because he was a celebrity, but that didn’t stop him from coming face to face with many of the inmates. Everyone would have an issue with his case, so he kept it to himself.

“I murdered a man,” he told them instead, to keep himself safe. The man he had murdered was himself. He hadn’t had those thoughts for a while, but they returned to him. Images of his friend from years ago, both of them hand in hand as they exchanged promises.

_ "Promise we’ll jump together?”_

_ “I promise I’ll jump with you.”_

_ Every week the words had been exchanged until Xue Yang had met him up at the building, the building they would always stand from to look below dreaming of better dreams, better visions, better lives. Xue Yang had met him that day and his friend had given him a candy to eat. _

_ "Promise we’ll jump together?”_

_ "I’ve been thinking,” Xue Yang had said. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I’ll stick around for a bit.”_

_ His friend was taken aback, both eyebrows raising but he held no malice. A small smile had manifested on the boy’s face as he replied, “I don’t think I can stick around any longer, Xue Yang.”_

_ “It might get better.”_

_ “It’s not going to. It’s not anything around me. It’s me. It’s whatever’s in my head. It says jump jump jump, and then you said you’d jump jump jump with me. If you’re not going to, that’s okay too. I want to say I’m happy for you.”_

_ “I want to say I’d be happier if you stay,” Xue Yang felt his eyes burn. He was young and watching his only friend so close to the edge._

_ “A promise is a promise,” his friend smiled again. _

_ “O…okay. I’ll be behind you. I’ll be there one day.”_

_ “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”_

_ “Until then, it’s okay if you go first. It’s okay if you want to go. I know your family doesn’t support it, but I’m here. Both of us will leap from this building, that spot, that’s our spot. We’ll jump.” _

_ “Is it really okay?”_

_ “It’s okay. It’s okay if you can’t hold on anymore. It’s okay if you want to go._

_ The following week, Xue Yang was training for his debut when the news had come to him. His friend, his best friend, had jumped from the building. They had both been fourteen. _

That was ten years ago, ten years without thoughts of death. He had almost forgotten the actual words they had exchanged that day. He went to crawl into his bunk thinking of nooses and cuts, thinking of bleeding and jumping.

\---- 

It didn’t matter that Mr. Song used their funds to bail him out. Xue Yang had hardly wanted to exit the prison cell, watching as they unlocked his cuffs, handed him his bag of clothing that he barely wanted to change into. He had resided in prison for just three months before he was freed under a dollar sign. He paled at the thought of returning to big big boss man, but the doors opened to him the second time and the man had asked the following: “Xue Yang, how was vacation?”

“Good, man, what’s new?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Can you still rap?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

And he was still signed under the company. He was the only artist under the company after all, like big big boss man had no faith in anyone else. Still, Xue Yang was going to need to make up all the money they had to give to the girl he had “wronged” and her family. Xue Yang was okay with that. He wanted to work, just work, not breathe, just work. He went over the details of the night over and over until he memorized random aspects of the bar, but couldn’t recall anything that would help him. It was fine that he was no longer locked behind prison bars, but now he carried the weight of the verdict. What would Xue Fam say?

He spent the following years working without thinking. Slowly, he could discern the changes that were coming onto him. He cared less about most things, lazed around, tarnished his reputation further, collaborated with people who had names to his bare minimum. Before he knew it, his fans were returning to him, half of them hadn’t left him. Their mentality: “Is his music still good? Then I’ll listen.”

Big big boss man had come to Xue Yang after the trials and said the following: “Xue Yang, remember what I said?”

“No fucking angst. We’re not therapists.”

“Right, that still stands.”

Now y’all really trying me, huh? Locked me up y’all tired of me, huh?

You mean to tell me this shit isn’t material?

That my rap and my bit isn’t crown imperial?

These days have been tough, guess you thought I was gone for good

Told y’all I wasn’t so much raised, said I was from the hood

Really thought you could chain me down have me admit

Shit I said I didn’t do but your ass won’t acquit

Up there with your hammer, I said jury unfit

Challenge it a bit, a system, hypocrite

Me? You’ll never find someone so involved so diligent

Do this for the love now because I’m innocent

And if y’all don’t believe me guess we’re not intimate

Enough, we’re strangers, you’re a sound so sibilant

I said insolence

I’m afraid Xue Xue’s become someone ambivalent

To everything you’re saying. He said he wanted honesty

Because a few rules won’t hurt, it’s just a policy

If you’re gonna’ be like everyone else then you’re just a maybe, a probably

From Reese pieces to smarties hearties

Life’s not a life without a few parties

Suck on Dum dum poppers to chocolate whoppers

This one’s for the ones who actively chase their monsters

Bitch

He released his next single, then was found guilty for a drug charge. Xue Yang couldn’t help it. Something about him was different after that case, after seeing himself on news channels, after seeing people protest his music, after seeing venues reject him, after losing everything. Drugs. They weren’t so complicated. Why, he could’ve sworn he got the same euphoria from them as he had on the night of the incident. Dizziness.

\---

Xiao Xingchen sat in his suite, legs criss crossed in the living room, a laptop perched on his thighs as the heat warmed his skin. It had been years, and yet everything still vexed his concentration. He wrote a few lyrics, typed some, deleted the file, crumbled up the pieces of paper. He indulged in much more tea than it was appropriate, yawning most sleeping hours away rather than actively taking part in them. The whole while, he kept tabs open, bookmarked them, filled colorful sticky notes with his neat handwriting that had turned into a jumbled frenzy of impulse thoughts.

_He didn’t do it, _Xiao Xingchen thought. Xue Yang now had enough strands of cases to make an entire lock, and Xiao Xingchen had immersed himself in each individually simply to be tangled. The problem was yellow journalism and activists who judged before speaking. Xiao Xingchen had followed Xue Yang’s discography, followed his comment videos, followed his trivial tweets, nothing about anything Xue Yang ever spoke for a villain. Everything the child did _looked_ like a villain. There was a difference.

Xue Yang had two lesser felony charges, four battery charges, three of assault, nine charges of drug possession, and his one serious felony charge of rape. The only case to ever be acquitted was his illegal possession of a prohibited weapon, which was characterized as a misdemeanor. They never found the alleged weapon, in other words, the gun. During the nine years, Xiao Xingchen had texted him four times. The first two was the collaboration. The third was to see if he was okay after the class D charge. The last one was after the rape charge and had simply said, “how are things?” Xue Yang hadn’t answered any of them. This didn’t vex Xiao Xingchen for he was a patient man. Nine years was a short amount of time if one were discussing a life span. To this day, he still waited. Perhaps Xue Yang blocked him or committed some other method in order to distance himself from him, but Xiao Xingchen would be persistent. He just wanted to know what happened. That and had Xiao Xingchen himself been honest?

He hadn’t. Xiao Xingchen was a fan of Xue Yang’s from the start. He had stumbled into a bar one night after escaping a frantic fan, and had the honor of seeing Xue Yang’s first performance. Xiao Xingchen, a lover of music, and veteran of the music scene, was in search of honest music. He hadn’t seen it in Xue Yang’s performance, but he knew it was there. It was the undying words in the emphasis of syllables, the things Xue Yang must’ve wanted to say but didn’t. Xiao Xingchen had been enthralled. He was never one for rap music, but he felt the emotion. He felt the peak where Xue Yang almost seemed to give himself away, almost lose himself in the words, almost express himself fully, then he abandoned it and it fell into a generic verse, hiding. It wasn’t just that performance, for Xue Yang had followed his discography after that night. It was in every song. It was almost an art, how much Xue Yang hid in the actual words. After the rape incident four years ago, his music gradually changed to the point where almost everything was hidden. Xue Yang had done it meticulously, almost no one noticed, no one but Xiao Xingchen who flinched at the gesture. He had asked Xue Yang to collaborate because he was hoping to touch that honesty, hear it for himself, provoke it so it slid from Xue Yang’s lips, and it had. It came out that afternoon on stage, in the melody, in the rhythm, in the lyrics, in his tone and pitch, and Xiao Xingchen had _felt_ it. 

He had been enthralled from the beginning, so enthralled that he had allowed Xue Yang to steal from him. Xiao Xingchen after all had studied computer science, despite being a prodigy idol, he had studied later on. He had caught the link when Xue Yang attempted to hack the system, but he had ignored it. He didn’t think Xue Yang would react so viciously, but of course he would. Xue Yang had thought that Xiao Xingchen had given him up, had alerted the authorities in the name of money. In reality, it had been the company who never received their funds. Xiao Xingchen hadn’t acted quickly enough. He had meant to hack into the company account and insert his own funds to make up for the lost, but someone had caught on. His manager of course, who never liked Xue Yang to begin with. “Dirt,” he had called the boy. Xiao Xingchen had felt the urge to correct him, not dirt but soil, able to fertilize growth. Xue Yang was just a neglected flower.

After the rape case, Xiao Xingchen had gone into hiatus to do his research. He hadn’t returned to it since, handing the stage over to Lan Xichen. Xue Yang’s music was so forcibly generic and angry now that Xiao Xingchen could feel himself paving over with aggression. He knew Xue Yang had much to be angry with, but hearing it clung to his chest, making it heavy and intoxicated to breathe.

But Xue Yang had done it. Xue Yang was on top of the music billboards now. Xue Yang was one of the richest people in Beijing, richer than Xiao Xingchen now. It only took twenty total charges and a decade worth of music and anger. Patrol officers had to escort him on stage, he had to wear an ankle bracelet, went to rehabilitation at least three times. Too much.

_He’s going downhill, _Xiao Xingchen thought, a solemn expression on his face as he scrolled another article. _I’ll pull you up. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long chapter!  
I know a lot of you are probably like what the fuck just happened to XY but a story's a story LMAO!  
Btw, they're incredibly OOC as you will see in the following chapters.  
Look closely, Xiao Xingchen is actually a little...obsessed.  
We're going to be switching to XXC's pov next ♥


	5. Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m doing this for justice,” he said aloud, because he desperately needed to hear it. And because he had fallen in love with Xue Yang’s lyrics, and wished that one day he could hear the little bits that the boy was hiding.  
But alas, Xue Yang wasn’t a child anymore. He was a rather grown man, and Xiao Xingchen was a grown man, and Xue Yang could take care of himself.

Xiao Xingchen had gone downstairs to retrieve his mail from his mailbox. Nothing was unordinary as he locked and unlocked his little cubicle, greeting the front desk woman as he returned to the elevator. Seven floors up was a hike after all. The doors were just closing when he called out, “hold the door, please!”

The doors immediately opened again for someone inside had pressed the button. With relief, he entered the elevator and saw a familiar figure. The man was taller, but still lacked a few inches. He wore gold airpods, a thin white and gold v-neck under a tight black hooded mandarin collar blazer jacket that couldn’t decide whether it was leather or cotton with shoulder blades that adorned tiny spike cones. His black jeans were distressed to the point of showing almost all of his thighs. On his feet he adorned Gucci flashstrek sneakers in yogurt white, a detachable strap with golden cone studs that ran along the Italian calf leather. The soft tongue of the footwear adorned the brand in golden yellow, the uppers with golden buckles for an overlap crease of pale laces. The upholster of the shoe’s design obviously made for a light tread, without effort, caught the light of the elevator and reflected against the walls. He wore a thick ring on his thumb, ring, and pinky fingers. Everything about it spoke of the people who resided in these suites if not for the fact that he had nonchalant jade eyes, a canine tooth that appeared just as he asked, “sure, man, what floor?”

_Panic, _Xiao Xingchen thought, instantly thinking to hide his face, but when he looked at the other, Xue Yang seemed to have no recollection of who he was. Sure, Xiao Xingchen looked different, but Xue looked didn’t even look like the same person. The boy he met had been nineteen with short hair, a large t-shirt that said, “BUT FIRST, COFFEE” and baggy jeans with a cap hooked to his beltline. This man was not him. This man oozed money, and his hair looked _so_ soft. It was long, caressing his shoulders and collarbone, the right side braided tightly to his scalp. Xue Yang was the only person Xiao Xingchen ever met that parted his hair on the right. As he gawked, he made out nine different piercings on the man’s ear. He didn’t even know you could pierce the daith or the rook, but on the man’s ear they sparkled in his eyes. His standard piercing had a large lightning bolt and was attached to his helix. The industrial seemed a bit strange. When he looked closer, he could make out a little handle that opened the orb. It was a weapon. For defense or assault? 

He was taking too long to answer.

“Same floor,” he mumbled, clearing his throat into his fist. Xue Yang nodded saying in return, “that’s what’s up.”

_Does he live here or is he visiting? _Xiao Xingchen thought. To himself, he had lived that for nearly a decade now. Surely he would know if Xue Yang lived there. The elevator door was taking too long to open, and Xiao Xingchen could erase the meager fact that he was so underdressed. He couldn’t help but think that he could do better. At last, the doors opened and Xue Yang gestured for the man to exit first. Xiao Xingchen brought his loose t-shirt and light blue pajama pants into the hall. It was the tenth floor. They needed to walk within an inner bridge to arrive at the coming building. It was the elite quarters, suites that were even grandiose, more so exclusive than his own. You needed a specific type of card to get past the doors, and Xiao Xingchen only knew that when Xue Yang took his from his blazer breast pocket to slide against the reader. They filed into the halls, lavish carpeting of gold and red, bright lights and wall motifs. A large vase hand painted with decorum housed fresh plants that a gardener must’ve came to water everyday.

Unintentionally, Xiao Xingchen had followed Xue Yang to his door. He paused behind him, aloof, frantic for a moment as his feet brought him to the next door over before the man could sense the pause.

“Oh, you know the Haungs?” Xue Yang suddenly asked, causing Xiao Xingchen to want nothing more than to disappear.

“Mm hmm,” came the man’s tiny reply, not turning to face the other.

“You poor thing. I know them myself,” Xue Yang joked. His voice was deeper and so wickedly polished at the same time. It wasn’t cruel, but rather sharp, and waxed over with elegance. It was a hauntedly beautiful voice. Then Xiao Xingchen noticed his laugh, an innocent little “hahaha” with a slight squeak at the end. It was, it was cute.

“O-oh, I forgot my keys,” Xiao Xingchen said absentmindedly. “Have to call my friend to let me in.”

“Oh, you live here? Haven’t seen you. Ayeee, we’re neighbors,” Xue Yang said, punching in a code in his lock, a rather long one at that. The door didn’t open right away. He looked up at God knows what before a tiny little click was heard.

“Well, I’ll see you around, man,” was the last of what Xue Yang said before he disappeared behind his suite door. Xiao Xingchen was left in the hallway with his memory of how to leave and no way to get in. Somehow he felt disastrously empty now that the other no longer stood there.

\---

The first thing Xiao Xingchen did when he returned to his suite was to breathe, then to stalk over to the balcony doors, peaking through as if he could see the building Xue Yang resided in. Xue Yang had not recognized him, thankfully. Or was it not thankfully? Some part of Xiao Xingchen wanted to be recognized, but that part hadn’t been rational. If Xue Yang saw him, he’d likely be repulsed, angry, and stab him with his industrial knife. To carry a weapon everywhere you want meant _something_. Xiao Xingchen attempted to dissolve the thoughts, the many accusations the public housed Xue Yang in. Surely, he had a good reason to carry a weapon everywhere, not because he was violent but because others were.

He went to go seat himself on his chaise longue, leaning heavily as though he had had the roughest excursion of his life. All he had done was retrieve the mail. He hadn’t even signed for bills yet. He went to check any updates from Xue Yang’s twitter account since everything the man texted alerted Xiao Xingchen’s phone.

_Research, _Xiao Xingchen had called it, but in reality he knew it was just the curious fan in him, the other person who just wanted to know what the man was doing.

The tweet had said the following: “Wei fucking Ying, come over. Dinner’s on me today, bitches.”

For no apparent reason, Xiao Xingchen’s stomach turned on the inside. He wasn’t sure if it had dropped or simply spun, but it caused him nausea. He drank some water to relieve it, then called himself foolish. Of course, Xue Yang would invite Wei Wuxian over. They had started using their social platforms to communicate with one another just a few weeks ago. Of course, it was a few weeks ago. A few weeks ago, after a scandal of six years, Wei Wuxian had returned not as a problematic backup dancer, but as a solo artist in a completely different genre. He had apparently started speaking to Xue Yang publicly again. If Xiao Xingchen remembered correctly, when he saw Xue Yang six years ago during the event, he had gone to sit beside Wei Wuxian, shared some words. They obviously cultivated a friendship and were now on very good terms, good enough for Xue Yang to invite him to his suite for dinner.

Nausea, that’s what it was, Xiao Xingchen was sure of it. His stomach sure was acting funny today. He stood up to walk towards his mini shrine, an entire desk worth of Xue Yang’s discography, merchandise and exclusives. Xiao Xingchen had been following madly, waiting for the honesty, and he was seeing less of it as the list increased, as the singles increased.

_No one’s letting you say what you want to say, _he thought, holding onto the collaboration single. Xue Yang collaborated with many people, Xiao Xingchen had not been different, but this single was warm in his hands. He could almost press it to his lips and whisper, “innocence.”

No child that laughed the way Xue Yang did was capable of half of the things he was charged of. The drug possession, sure, but the assault charges, battery? It just didn’t seem like that laugh, those guarded jade eyes. Xue Yang was hiding hiding hiding and Xiao Xingchen was looking looking looking. Xue Yang could have his friends. He could do whatever he wanted. Xiao Xingchen didn’t have to care about that, but he wasn’t going to sit by, and watch Xue Yang destroy himself. He checked his phone to see Wei Wuxian’s reply, “Yesss, the wife’s cooking today. Are you bitches or am I bitches [laughing emoji]?”

Wrong. Xiao Xingchen was charged with something else. He wanted it to be purely for justice but it wasn’t. He couldn’t admonish the fact that when he had asked Xue Yang to be honest, Xue Yang had given him honesty. If Wei Wuxian asked Xue Yang, would he give him the same thing?

_No, _Xiao Xingchen though, because he knew it was true. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t even ask for honesty. He would simply accept Xue Yang as he was. That was fine, but Xiao Xingchen _knew_, he _knew_ who Xue Yang was. He had always been looking.

\---

Xiao Xingchen was sure Xue Yang’s lyrics would generate some sort of thesis for his basis. The following sort of verses much resembled much of the rest, and assisted him with absolute nothing.

_Change me change me, money bag_

_Say what you want, front page mag _

_Shows every night, I’m jet lagged_

_Wake me wake up, think I’m high_

_Off the adrenaline, I wonder why_

_Act your part and then apply_

_Heads up, fucker, I’m the bad guy_

_Lost my mind, laffy taffy_

_Wonky bonky, holler at me _

_Bang bang_

His lyrics no longer appeared the way they used to, and he had too much commentary about what people thought about his current jailed position. After all, Xue Yang was still under a parol law. Even his twitter biography addressed it, stating the bare minimum: “I rap sometimes. FUDGE [Release Date >>> August 4th] Six days to freedom, bitches!” It would be six more days before Xue Yang was officially freed from his parol and able to wander where ever he desired again. Xiao Xingchen could go anywhere he wanted from the beginning but decided to stay in his suite living room, hunched over a laptop, rubbing his eyes from lack of sleep.

While Xue Yang made as though he was shooting the people who judged him for his fame, Xiao Xingchen exed out of the lyrics and went back to his notes. He needed help, that’s what he needed. Who would know Xue Yang well enough to get information? Xiao Xingchen paled at the thought just as it surpassed him: Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian who was involved in an “indecent act” scandal involved with one of Lan Xichen’s backup dancers, his lead dancer, if he remembered correctly. Wei Wuxian was allegedly attempting to climb up the industry ladder even if that meant climbing onto another body.

_That’s strange, _Xiao Xingchen thought, because if someone were to attempt that, why wouldn’t he try at Lan Xichen himself? Instead, he went for his brother, that Lan Wangji. _I guess, I mean, it’s still related. I can see why it was problematic for people, but, _but what? What he wanted to say was “mind your own business,” but he refrained from doing so. Xiao Xingchen didn’t know much about Wei Wuxian, so he certainly wasn’t on such good terms with him to judge, on terms like Xue Yang who could call him “Wei Ying.” Correction: Wei Fucking Ying.

_Maybe I need to mind _my _own business, _and yet, Xue Yang seemed like his business. He wasn’t, but it just seemed like it. It was the least Xiao Xingchen could’ve done for letting the prison take him before, before what? Before _he_ could? That made no sense either.

“I’m doing this for justice,” he said aloud, because he desperately needed to hear it. And because he had fallen in love with Xue Yang’s lyrics, and wished that one day he could hear the little bits that the boy was hiding.

But alas, Xue Yang wasn’t a child anymore. He was a rather grown man, and Xiao Xingchen was a grown man, and Xue Yang could take care of himself.

With alcohol.

With drugs.

By hitting people.

By climbing in bed with others.

Bang Bang.

Xiao Xingchen could feel himself flushing. Red had not taken to his face, but his cheeks began to fill with warmth until it rushed to his head. Wei Wuxian had called him “wife,” and Xue Yang had called Xiao Xingchen “man.”

“I am not just ‘man’,” Xiao Xingchen whispered, because he wasn’t. He was most likely the tie to free Xue Yang from his charges. He was the only person on his side, and the least Xue Yang could’ve done was recognize him.

No.

Don’t do that.

Just don’t.

At least this way, Xue Yang would speak to him. At least he would talk to a stranger.

\---

There was something about that honesty, some sort of lever that Xiao Xingchen desperately wanted to pull. With his gentle hands, take hold, and flick the switch. He wanted to fill his surroundings with the purity of it, align it with himself, and bathe in it. Was it strange? That want? That need? He pressed his fingers against his keys with frantic movements. Now that he knew what suite Xue Yang resided in, he could easily access the number.

And do what?

_Tell him I’m here for justice? _Xiao Xingchen thought, looking at his wary expression in the dark spaces of his laptop screen. He could see his reflection in the dark strands of Xue Yang’s hair, his desktop background. He began again to dance his fingers along the keys, watching as other squares opened up on his screen, lines of coding he had to decipher and dissemble, until his fingers froze where they were and he again looked at his reflection.

Wasn’t he being a bit _creepy_? Following Xue Yang after the first performance, to collaborating with him, to following his discography, to trying to prove his innocence by reading anything that remotely involved the boy, to following him to his suite, to checking the system for his phone number? His fingers stopped midair as though they too were shocked with his actions.

But this was for justice.

Xue Yang deserved justice.

Xiao Xingchen _would_ hear his honest music one day, _uncensored_. But first, he needed to free Xue Yang from his verdict, those cumbersome chains. He could almost imagine how heavy they were while he feigned weightless. Poor Xue Yang, poor little Xue Yang. Xiao Xingchen rubbed his wrists, making out the sensations of the chains, the word ‘guilty’ in his ear and the word ‘justice’ on his tongue. He swallowed to taste it, bittersweet, like soda.

He wondered if Wei Wuxian understood that when they shook hands, or rather, when they bumped fists. Could he have understood what was going to happen to Xue Yang? Could he carry it now that Xue Yang travelled in a carriage of baggage? But of course, of course, he could. Wei Wuxian’s name wasn’t pristine; the man took with him the breath of scandal in everything he said. And, Xiao Xingchen was so _pristine_. There was nothing to his name, even branded sympathy from others due to the incident nine years ago. Well, bother it! Xiao Xingchen didn’t want the sympathy. The ordeal had ruined his chances at hearing the honest music for years to come. He was sure he was the link to freeing Xue Yang and hearing it.

Wei Wuxian was coming and he’d be waiting for him. With no words planned in his mouth, he pressed his lips together and went to meet him, or feign meeting him by chance. When he saw a red Ferrari pull up, he made his way back down to his mailbox, quickly as not to miss him. As Wei Wuxian fixated his attention on the visitor log, Xiao Xingchen came from his mailbox attempting to look preoccupied, like their meeting was by chance. As expected, when Wei Wuxian thanked the front desk as they panned upstairs to inform Xue Yang of a visitor, he turned with an awkward expression when he took in the sight of the other. Of course, it’d be awkward. Xiao Xingchen was one of the largest names in the idol world, a place that no longer accepted Wei Wuxian’s presence. It didn’t alleviate matters since Xiao Xingchen was a rather close friend to Lan Xichen himself though they mainly conversed through emails, too busy to answer phonecalls. Not that Xiao Xingchen was busy the way others expected. He spent hours of his time in the comment sections of Xue Yang music videos, hoping to find clues or to wrinkle his face in misery when someone said something rude along the lines of, “fuckin pedo. Kil urself.” Like the words needed to come out so quickly, they couldn’t even bother to spell out the full words.

“Hi, friend,” Xiao Xingchen said instead, turning his thoughts to other places. He would not judge Wei Wuxian. Everyone had something attached to them. Right now, Xiao Xingchen’s was responsibility and duty. “Are you visiting?” He asked, a gentle smile on his face.

Wei Wuxian was all long black hair and red streaks, tattoos and piercings. He _looked_ like he’d know Xue Yang the way Xiao Xingchen _looked_ like he’d know Lan Xichen. The man hesitated, not sure of how to respond to him before he replied, “visiting a friend.”

Xiao Xingchen flinched, almost, having had been pushed out from a true answer. Was he so far from relation that Wei Wuxian couldn’t even tell him the name? It had been so long since the last show, maybe a full year and a few months since Xue Yang held a performance. He had been on parol for his money couldn’t buy him free from civic duty. Xiao Xingchen wanted to see him again, for no reason, just see him and be able to say, “I see you,” and “you’re safe now.” Just six more days and Xue Yang would be freed, having his last case land him somewhere his money couldn’t reach. It was an assault case by which he had punched an coming up actor in the face at a bar, that Jin Zixun, cousin to a main actor, Jin Zixuan himself, also one of Lan Xichen’s backup dancers as a ‘side hobby,’ he called it. Maybe because it was such a prominent family name, did Xue Yang decide to be silent and obey his parol for once.

Xiao Xingchen was physically itching from his desire to see how Xue Yang would casually react to seeing his good friend. Surely, it would be different from meeting a stranger, him, or meeting Xiao Xingchen, him.

“I’ll walk you,” Xiao Xingchen said, vaguely remembering the way. “I’d hate for you to end out lost because I neglected you.” He didn’t know if Wei Ying had ever visited before considering he had never known Xue Yang to live in this building, but he couldn’t have Wei Wuxian thinking that he held a grudge he didn’t have. He watched Wei Wuxian make no implication to move, his lips sucked in and his actions hesitant.

“It’s alright. A-Yang and I are neighbors,” Xiao Xingchen lied, for if Xue Yang were to recollect the concept, someone needed to validate it alongside him. He just hoped that it wouldn’t later return to bite him. At his words, Wei Wuxian seemed to breathe, like a secret had been shared between all of them and Xiao Xingchen was included this time. This caused the veteran idol to smile, a small treasure under his nose, kind eyes that were ready to see Xue Yang again. He began to walk him to the elevator then to the tenth floor where Xue Yang had come to the hallway access door since Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be able to open it. As the door opened, Xue Yang appeared with a loose black wife beater and ared and black training drawstring pants in an ombre fade and black Givenchy logo sliders under his naked feet. His two bare arms had a long sword tattooed from the ball of his shoulder to the knuckle before his middle finger where the point of the sword tipped. One his left arm was a black sword, the right, a white sword. The younger boy’s eyes widened at seeing Xiao Xingchen again.

“Wei Ying! Troubling my neighbors! Sorry about that…” Xue Yang’s voice faded in order for Xiao Xingchen to reply. A moment of hesitation zipped past Xiao Xingchen’s intellect as he muttered as casually as possibly, “Yuandao. Just Yuandao is fine.”

He caught Wei Wuxian’s expression just in time to shoot him a look, his eyes dangerous. It wasn’t something that Xiao Xingchen would’ve ever done, and he hadn’t known what had gotten into him, but he felt protective. Wei Wuxian would not ruin this. He was doing it for justice. Just justice. If Xue Yang found out now, Xiao Xingchen would have to risk feeling _creepy_. He wasn’t creepy, was just doing this for the music. Any artist would do strange things in the name of music.

Wei Wuxian nodded slowly, his face display just a trivial slip of alarm, but he said nothing at the name. Wei Wuxian had recognized him where Xue Yang had failed. Was Xiao Xingchen so minute that he couldn’t secure just a nugatory space in Xue Yang’s memory? When he looked up, Xue Yang was holding the door for him since they lived ‘on the same floor.’

“Well, nice to meet you Yuandao, Dage. Aren’t you coming in?” The young man asked him. Behind him, Wei Wuxian was uncomely quiet.

“I forgot my key inside of my apartment so I called a friend to bring a spare. Please excuse me. You’re very welcome to head in first,” Xiao Xingchen lied. It would explain why he had gone back downstairs.

“Oh, oh well, why don’t you come in for dinner while you wait? Who knows where your friend is coming from?”

Xiao Xingchen felt his stomach growl yes, not out of hunger, but out of excitement. He agreed by accident, forgetting that no one was coming and that his key was in his pocket. As they walked, Xiao Xingchen stared at the back of Xue Yang’s neck.

Something about it seemed vulnerable, like if anyone wished to hurt him, they’d grab in that area first. He almost reached out and did it himself to see if it’d worked. This was it. He _felt_ it. Xue Yang wasn’t safe here, and Xiao Xingchen would do many things to make sure he didn’t know that. Keep him here. Build a sanctuary of this building complex. So, he would always be in reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys seemed to enjoy the longer chapters and since this shit is all pre-typed, here you are ♥  
Just an FYI, XXC right now is obsessed not with XY but with hearing his honesty which is what's making it creepy. He learns to obsess over XY himself later on LMAO.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could almost feel his nails nipping into skin, waiting for that accurate precision, the release of pressure, the brink of sheer pain before he eased, not allowing himself to cut into his own skin. He had done it plenty of times, testing of the degrees of pressure, done it every time he was frustrated over the case. Xue Yang was innocent. He knew it knew it knew it. It was in his bones. If only he could peel off his skin so everyone could see it.

Xue Yang’s apartment was a mixture of dark blue, sky blue, dark violet, and grey. The first thing Xiao Xingchen noticed was the intensity of the size. On the left was a large circular mirror just as the door opened, then a large blown up portrait of Xue Yang above a mantle of positioned candles and vases, feng shui perhaps, for their positions were specifically dictated. A disk light was above them, hovering with grace as it spilled light automatically. Contrast wooden panels were under their feet, a trail of blue and black carpet in a stone pattern that spilled down the hall lie on top of it. On the left, the wooden floors had surrendered to a navy blue carpeting, light blue cushioned papasan chairs lounged beside a black square motion coffee table with a decorative vase that rested on the surface. A more organic, longer table rested its confidence just a meter away, a collection of wabi-sabi architecture, a disk of round orbs on it serving as decorum. Beneath the table was a thick white fur pelt. Two sky blue armchairs with purple cushioning and solid wooden legs sat on either side of the table. The wall behind boasted an inner panel flat screen tv that emerged behind a block when triggered. It rested on a black marble draw, reflective material that tore into the ceiling as a water backdrop, illuminating ceiling lights on each intersecting line of the blocks. Below it, a stereo set was perched inside of the wall on either side of a faux fire place. Light blue curtains covered black windows, and the plywood body of the remaining walls opened up to the next living room, sharp textures and light pigments. A partial wall opened to an extravagant cool toned kitchen with a marble finish over a contrast tile body that served as a countertop. A golden organic swirl hooked around the room, almost circling it in a waltz, a staircase that brought you to another platform where a bedroom stood. Inside the other room, large bookcases reached the ceiling, modern abstract lights peaked through the wooden boards of the ceiling, a large framed photo of Beijing boasted the neutral wall, and another sofa set balanced a collection of sky blue cushions on a bed of black.

Xiao Xingchen stared in awe. His own apartment was every tone of white and humble. The flamboyancy of Xue yang’s apartment told him to never leave it.

_Maybe I can put a few more pictures up, _the older man thought, coming in to take a seat at the bar table.

“Damn, this place is fire,” Wei Wuxian commented, plopping his body onto one of the armchairs farther off. “Well, water,” he corrected, for the scheme of the suite was anything but warm tones. It was strange to see such cool tones surround a person who was so aggressive. Xue Yang’s music was _aggressive_. He was usually unsoundly angry in his verses, raising his voice to the point of yelling. But when Xiao Xingchen turned to face him, Xue Yang was just a young man, hair still curly where he had taken out the braids, perched before the kitchen counter top cutting fruit. He couldn’t help but stare at his grace, the way he moved his hands, careful not to cut too deep into the fruit, thin slices.

“So, Yuandao, what do you do?” Xue Yang asked, absentmindedly. Xiao Xingchen wasn’t pressed for an answer, though he could see Wei Ying quickly look in his direction as if he had been struck by something foul.

“I am lack of anything interesting really. I am but a university student,” Xiao Xingchen answered, holding onto the fact that it wasn’t a full lie. Lying fully would’ve been a disaster for him, coils in his chest, twists of his intestines – no, he wasn’t going to lie fully to Xue Yang. Xue Yang would be completely honest to him one day. He wouldn’t lie to him like that.

“Damn, you’re rachet rich. No job? Just school?” Xue Yang questioned, a laugh on his lips while he neatly placed vegetables in the pot for a clean boil. He peeled them while his eyes busied with conversation, staring at Xiao Xingchen and Wei Ying, mastered hands.

“University occupies much of my time. I’ll be graduating this year, thankfully,” Xiao Xingchen answered, careful to dodge the question. He still hadn’t lied fully. After all, he _was_ graduating this year, and it _did_ occupy most of his time.

“Major?” Xue Yang asked. Xiao Xingchen found an insignificant smile on his own face. He liked how abrupt and short Xue Yang’s comments were. There was a beauty about being frank, how shy it was of unnecessary instruction. It dictated exactly what it wanted, timid to details, and thrusted its body at the speaker. Xiao Xingchen almost reached out to touch it and give it a piece of candy.

“Computer engineer,” Xiao Xingchen replied, squeezing his fingers into his palm as punishment for forgetting to reply in a timely matter.

“Sounds mad complicated. I’ll pass,” Xue Yang joked, but Xiao Xingchen knew the boy was interested. Xue Yang did after all dabble in the field of black hat hacking, and Xiao Xingchen knew the maneuvers as well. He could teach him, don a professor robe, if only it didn’t relinquish his identity.

“Alright, Wei fucking Ying, I got two whole chickens here. On a scale of one to ten, how many chickens can you eat?” Xue Yang asked, returning to the other.

“Two,” Wei Ying answered, spinning on the swivel armchair. There was a haunted creak that came from under him like it would drop him completely if he was ever more impatient with its solid position. Xiao Xingchen couldn’t dissolve the cramped thought of watching the man fall. Why, he wouldn’t even reach out with his gentle hands to catch him.

_How mean, _he thought to himself. He could be a better person, and yet in the setting of Xue Yang’s house, he almost felt like he belonged, like he was the honest component that Wei Ying had lacked. Sitting in the suite, Wei Ying had made himself unsettlingly comfortable, disturbing the bearings of the pristine furniture, agitating the silence of their elite finish. And yet, Wei Ying seemed so natural in the house, his presence pleasant to the walls despite his fiery coating. Xiao Xingchen couldn’t help but consider himself an outsider, cold against the cool breeze of the suite. He would set the place to ice, frosting over everything until Xue Yang trembled from the frigidity, misty fog leaving his lips in short outbursts, and all Xiao Xingchen would be able to say was, “just be completely honest.”

Please and thank you.

Here’s a candy for your hard work.

Do it again.

Let me hear it again.

Nine years truly was a long time. Xiao Xingchen elapsed into silence as Wei Ying filtered the naked air with his trivial speech, events that were taking place, a conversation he had with his adoptive brother, something about a stew his shijie had made, how his nephew was thinking about being a teen idol because his two friends were destined for fame, how he was working on a song and he wanted Xue Yang to proof read the lyrics, something about a collaboration.

Xiao Xingchen’s chest grew heavy.

_It’s not different. Xue Yang collaborates with people all the time, _he told himself, his fingers pinching tighter and tighter into his palm. He could almost feel his nails nipping into skin, waiting for that accurate precision, the release of pressure, the brink of sheer pain before he eased, not allowing himself to cut into his own skin. He had done it plenty of times, testing of the degrees of pressure, done it every time he was frustrated over the case. Xue Yang was innocent. He knew it knew it knew it. It was in his bones. If only he could peel off his skin so everyone could see it.

He had no evidence.

Wei Ying continued to speak, his voice like a numbing pill, garbled through Xiao Xingchen’s veins. Allthewhile, Xue Yang responded to everything, laughing here and there like miniature angel tears drizzling on the quiet.

Xiao Xingchen found that he wanted to be a part of the conversation. It was so long and stretched, still they were talking, talking about what? About where? About who? Xiao Xingchen was so _quiet_.

“Yuandao, you eat meat, right? You’re not going to chew my head off because I cook birds, right?” Xue Yang asked, just as Wei Ying laughed at his comment. Wei Ying had laughed before Xiao Xingchen could, and now it seemed like it didn’t matter if Xiao Xingchen laughed at all. He shook his head politely.

Politely would not bring him into the conversation.

“Did you recently move here?” He asked, determined to be spoken to.

“Three or so months ago,” came Xue Yang. “I move a lot. Personal reasons.”

Xiao Xingchen didn’t pry, but he already knew the reason. He was sure Xue Yang received death threats pretty often, sure fans often discovered his residence, activists that made leaving the home an obstacle, cameras cameras cameras. Xiao Xingchen could imagine him attempting to wave them off, tell them to go away as the lights blinded him and his vision blurred. There would be voices surrounding him, questions, invasive questions, and everywhere came that one question that incessantly voiced itself, “did you do it?”

Did you rape a child?

Xiao Xingchen almost frowned. Looking at Xue Yang now, Xue Yang was the child experienced with age, that’s all. He had a lollipop in between his lips as he sectioned off rice into miniature china bowls, a small bowl on a plate on a plate. Xue Yang was one of absolute presentation. How could this case ruin his own presentation like that?

Xiao Xingchen figured out what it was. Careful. It was uncomely careful. Everything Xue Yang did, how he dressed, how he furbished his furniture, how he demonstrated the position of the bowl and plates; it needed to be perfect, like any detail out of place would rob him of the freedom he finally held.

“By the way, if you’re not going to kill me for chopping up a roasted chicken, that’s Wei Wuxian, i’m Xue Yang, so don’t lose your shit, okay?” Xue Yang said, finally placing all of the dinner together. Marinated roasted chicken over warm rice, rabbit cut apples, with a side vegetable broth.

“Why would I? It is a beautiful name,” Xiao Xingchen replied, because he refused it, refused the connotation of bearing such a name.

“Look at that, Wei fucking Ying. Ain’t that a free judgement home for ya’?” Xue Yang laughed again, bringing the bowls over to the dinner table. “I like you, Yuandao. You know I’ve been arrest more than ten times?”

“I find it more a strange matter that I’ve received 100 _Yōu xiù _in all of my classes, Xue Yang. Do not bother it, your reputation. Everyone carries a little baggage with them.” Because it was true, and he could only hope that Xue Yang wouldn’t let his status diminish his person. Xue Yang had started at the bottom. He didn’t deserve to feel like he was still there.

“Damn, what’d you do, cheat to get there?” Xue Yang joked, pulling out his chair for him to take a seat.

“Friend, my entire major is learning how to cheat,” and he was good at it. He wasn’t here to do better for the world by becoming an engineer. His throat clogged up and told him the following, “be honest.”

But Xiao Xingchen had been _too_ honest. He had called Xue Yang “friend” the way his old nemesis would’ve. Xue Yang blinked, looking at him as though the man’s presence had just now emerged.

\---

The measure and intensity of Xue Yang’s stare caused Xiao Xingchen to avert his eyes, hoping what he had so little time to cultivate hadn’t receded already. He could discern the separate beats of his heart, thrusting invasively at the arch of his ribcage. Could Xue Yang see it coming through his shirt?

“Your eyes are surreal,” Xue Yang commented instead, pulling his gaze back up to meet him. Now that comment made no sense. Xiao Xingchen sockets adorned very common brown orbs. Nowhere would anyone notice his mundane eyes.

“What music do you listen to?” Xue Yang asked, a smirk on his face as though he already knew the response. Xiao Xingchen didn’t back down, giving him exactly what he wanted.

“Lan Xichen, pardon,” he replied, bowing his head at the both of them. Wei Ying laughed first just as Xue Yang embraced an, “of course.”

“I’ll tell you what. Don’t kill me for this. It doesn’t sound anything like brother Lan, but give it a listen, and if you still like me, come back over,” Xue Yang said through a laugh. He made his way over to a decorated drawer collected by the treasure of his discography, exclusives, signed, Xue Yang’s. He returned, handing him a CD. Afterward, Wei Ying requested his number to send his own audio because he didn’t have a CD on hand. It was in such a moment that Xiao Xingchen realized he didn’t need to steal Xue Yang’s number, he could wrestle it free from his lips with neatly worded conversation.

“Actually, I’ve received an invitation to a gathering. It’s an event that funds new musicians. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll send the information? It would be a great opportunity for the both of you.” That wasn’t a lie either. Xiao Xingchen was incessantly invited to these events no matter the frivolous detail of his hiatus. He had received another invitation not too long ago, another that he was destined to decline. What a good use all of the sudden.

Xue Yang burst into laughter, hunched over, chopsticks still in hand. The maneuver caused Xiao Xingchen to reanalyze what he had said, finding nothing out of place. He turned to look at Wei Wuxian for answers.

“You tryna’ throw me behind bars again?” Xue Yang joked, throwing a punch in his shoulder from across the table. It wasn’t an easy task. It was obligatory for him to stand, extend his entire front over the table, dodging articles of the table decorum, to reach out with his free hand for a punch where Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder fell. The older man appreciated the gesture, how he seemed to do so much just to ease into a show of intimacy. He’d rather be intimate with a stranger, stranger Yuandao, then to answer Xiao Xingchen.

Just what was money, that it separated people?

“I would never,” Xiao Xingchen responded at the bottom of his heart. The bottom at the moment seemed as though it was in his mouth, pumping blood onto the lining of his tongue, mixing with his saliva. He couldn’t believe his lack of speed had caused Xue Yang’s imprisonment the first time, let alone have the ordeal replicate itself nine years later.

“It’d be good publicity for Wei Wuxian here who just came back to the music world. I don’t do well in these events though I’d love to provide my funding. Perhaps you can go in my place.”

“Dude, I’m not allowed at banquets and shit anymore. The last three I went to, I broke two noses and a ribcage. On someone else. Judge says I’m prohibited from social gatherings and socialite events, ‘convivial affairs,’ she called it.”

“This is different. This is an elite community based nonprofit event for specifically funding the industry and striving musicians. It would count towards charity work.”

“Wei fucking Ying’s rep will be further fucked if I go, el oh el.”

“Publicity is publicity,” Wei Ying said, nodding his head.

“See this shit? This is why you’re my fav,” Xue Yang pointed at him in the chest, all the while, dropping a morsel of roasted chicken into his mouth.

Xiao Xingchen dulled at hearing such material. Didn’t Xue Yang know how hard he was trying in order to merely smudge the dirt that had collected in Xue Yang’s name? Why had he chosen Wei Wuxian as a friend in his place? Wei Wuxian did not care about Xue Yang’s honest music.

But _of course, _Xue Yang’s favorite was Wei Wuxian. Xue Yang had adopted that exact technique, tarnished publicity being the quickest form of rotated publicity. As long as Xue Yang was constantly arrested, he would appear on the news for people to see. The public would look him up. Everyone would know who he was. It didn’t matter how badly the dirt covered his voice and image, he would stand there but barely, a fang like smile on his face as he spoke his profanities, hiding behind his perfected wealthy consumption.

Xiao Xingchen almost wanted to dirty himself, place mud on his sleeves, infect his name with scandal, but it wasn’t in his person. How could he expect Xue Yang to be honest if he was fraudulent by action? When dinner had concluded, Xiao Xingchen excused himself as his ‘friend’ had made a late arrival. He had collected Xue Yang’s and Wei Wuxian’s cellphone numbers and made his way to the door, Xue Yang following out of curtesy. When the door opened, Mr. Song Lan entered, almost colliding bodies with Xiao Xingchen. They bother excused themselves, Xiao Xingchen thanking Xue Yang as he slipped into the hallway, trying desperately to hide his haunted face.

“We need to hang out again! Next time, your place,” Xue Yang called out to him. After he closed the door, Xue Yang discerned the serious expression on Mr. Song’s face. He almost wanted to smooth out the rough facial distortion to one of absolute sublime. Mr. Song needed to smile more.

“Don’t be like that, Mr. Song. Who cares if I made a few friends? This is Wei Ying by the way,” he said.

“Wei Ying?” Mr. Song questioned, eyeing the two suspiciously. Wei Ying was the type of person, in appearance, that he had strictly told Xue Yang to avoid. But next to one another, they appeared to be on best of terms, close friends even. Mr. Song pushed up his glasses as though to highlight what about Wei Ying was considered wicked.

“Wei Wuxian, sir,” Wei Ying said, a cheeky smile manifesting, ear to ear, radiant. In the cool of the room, he suddenly felt the rays of the sun set warmth to the ocean waters.

There it was. Not Wei Ying, but Wei Wuxian.

All of Mr. Songs words began to flood into range again inside the cramped corners of Xue Yang’s head. Where there was space, he had filled with negative thoughts, anger, frustrations, fear. There was little space left for trivial matters such as Mr. Song’s, “make good company.” Wei Ying was fine company. He liked him very well, they got along very well, they would be very well. It was too bad that Wei Ying resided farther off, miles away where friendship could only be touched through keys on the phone. Xue Yang didn’t like the distance of text. He often called to hear a voice, but seldom did voices resonate. Wei Ying was a texter. In Xue Yang’s letters, he didn’t hear himself.

Now, he had met a friend, someone in his new sanctuary. No one in this building complex had judged his baggage. If he could afford to live there, he was another ordinary wealthy individual who could afford to live there. Even his Ex resided in this building. He had felt safe for once, in so long. Three months and no death threats, no one vandalizing his walls, breaking his windows, sending vulgar items to his door, chanting outside his home, asking him questions questions questions. He had been safe. Safe enough to wear earphones in the elevator, to lounge in the lobby and not worry at the complimentary coffee, to wear Givenchy sliders because he didn’t need to worry about running. All the while, Mr. Song never left his side.

Xue Yang could say it, he was happy. He could count up to two in his friends list, he had a dependable manager, big big boss man never gave up on him, six days until freedom. He would be a good good good boy.

It was after Wei Ying went home, both men knocking fists, Wei Ying forcing the boy to take a picture with him, that he was able to take the trash to the trash shoot. It was a mini little white bag, not carrying much, but he couldn’t have it in his home. It would be another clue for others to say such, as the following, “he is a slouch. Of course he did it.”

He did it.

He did it.

He did it.

That was four years ago, and they would not release him from his chains. It sent a tireless migraine into his scalp, in between the individual strands of his hair before it judged his intellect. He remembered less of the event every day. He didn’t want to remember it. The after math, a collection of cruel cameras and hissing voices, adults that told him he was one as well, and he hadn’t felt it. He felt his mother and father leave him behind with each flash, lonelier than before.

Yuandao’s eyes were something else.

It was like they wanted to _say_ something, speak, words. He had attempted to avert his own eyes to avoid an awkward confrontation about his staring, but if he was serious, he could almost feel those eyes always on him, watching him. Perhaps he was overthinking things again, and he couldn’t begin to fathom why he thought about the man’s eyes to alleviate the trauma of his memories.

He opened the door, walking towards the trash shoot door when he saw the Huangs return. The Huangs were interesting. They were not fans of Xue Yang in the slightest, thinking him to be a natural trouble maker. At least one rude remark would be exchanged between each meeting, and they left one another alone. He didn’t hate them, and didn’t think they detested him in return, just slight annoyance. He groaned when he saw them, and Huang Mingyu, the bread maker of the family, rolled his eyes in return.

“Still wanted?” Mingyu asked, his attention more focused on the door than on the other. Their false animosity no longer served. It was a month into Xue Yang’s residency that they realized he was quiet when left alone and didn’t often leave his suite. What they thought to be a trouble maker was actually a young man in love with music, failing to make a single sound in the shower. He wasn’t noisy at all.

Xue Yang chuckled. “Still wanted,” he replied. He tossed the trash down the shoot and closed the door behind him, heading back to his own door when he felt an impulse to further the conversation. He turned in their direction. “Yuandao came by earlier for you guys.”

“Who?”

“Yuandao.”

“Who by earth is that?”

Xue Yang felt both of his eyebrows dart upwards. He drew them down to build some sort of assertiveness about his confusion.

“Yay tall?” He indicated with his arm a tad bit taller than him, a good bit actually. “Small face, _really pale_, large brown eyes, thin eyebrows, really fit?” That’s the exact word he would’ve used to describe Yuandao. The man was pale beyond pale, not in the face but in the personality as well. He remembered thinking that about another individual but his years and scenes punished him durably, and he found that he couldn’t recall the name appropriately or pinpoint the exact face. Who was it again?

“Really pale and that tall? What is he a net idol? He sounds like a perfect ghost.”

“But he lives on this floor. And he stopped in front of your apartment and told me he knew the Huangs.” Xue Yang found himself increasingly perplexed. Where Yuandao appeared to be a net idol, Xue Yang very much appeared to be _fei zhu liu_. But Mingyu was correct. Yuandao did seem like the perfect ghost, pale pale pale.

“Stop playing around. Don’t you have to be worried about cops or something?” Mingyu said, unlocking his door with a bored expression.

“I’m not pretending like this place is haunted. He lives here. He just came over.”

“That’s very nice for you, kid.”

Xue Yang hated when people called him kid, called him kiddo. He narrowed his eyes and went back to his apartment. When he sat down, he found that his heart was beating wildly in his chest and he couldn’t appease it enough to calm it down. He brought his hand to it, thinking of the worst case scenario. Was he having a stroke? Xue Yang’s health was god awful. Was he having a stroke? He focused, touching his face, rushing to the washroom to splash water over it. It seemed to wash away much of his problematic thinking and he calmed down, seating himself into an hour of thought. When Mr. Song interrupted him for his medicine, he looked up empty but resolute.

He ran to assure that his security system was on and functioning, backing away from the door as if something was approaching.

Who the hell had he just allowed into his home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who had enough time to proofread today, heheh! (屮｀∀´)屮  
In which I add more drama tadaaa.   
Do you guys want me to switch to wwx's pov too (still 3rd person) because our canon protag is just a foil in this story XD


	7. Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shh,” Xue Yang hushed him. “Don’t say my name in public, Yuandao. What if people realize I’m me?” His tone began to fade into sarcasm, strict and cold, pushing the other man away. He didn’t allow Xiao Xingchen to speak again, going into another peak of conversation.

The following week was inelegantly quiet. Xiao Xingchen troubled at not receiving a single word from his new friend. Perhaps Xue Yang was simply not a texting type person, though that shouldn’t have prohibited him from making a phone call. Xiao Xingchen wanted to hear his voice, hear it where it wasn’t aggressive, and just a pleasant thing. The arrival of night was emitting itself, an arrogant moon appearing behind dark clouds, illuminating the black paint of the night sky. He pressed against his keys, doing his homework assignment for his Master’s degree when his phone distracted him with a flash of bright light, a text coming in. It was from Xue Yang. He wasn’t quick to read it. It seemed to strange to receive a text at this time; instead, he finished his homework assignment, putting in coding where he needed to, proofreading then submitting, before he gave the text a gander.

“Coffee @ the bucks.” Starbucks. There was a Starbucks down one street, but why would he be invited to a coffee shop at such a late hour. Two, Xue Yang must’ve knew the hours of the shop, meaning he had given thought to somewhere that was still doing business at this late hour. Three, it wasn’t a question, but rather a statement; he was _telling_ him to go. Xiao Xingchen felt his nerves crawl directly out of his pores as he put on a coat, taking the elevator down to the lobby. He almost took a backward step when he saw Xue Yang waiting for him there, a grandad collar tight silk shirt of silk, with a fit knitted cardigan sweater of dark blue and contrasting black that came just shy of his hips, and harem baggy slacks in pale black, not exactly grey, not exactly black, like pollution if he could carry it around. Xiao Xingchen wondered if this was his dressing down for the cardigan appeared to be cozy while the rest of his attire seemed to mean harm. Xiao Xingchen himself simply wore a pair of white overstitch denim cotton pants and a white vertical stipe long sleeved linen shirt. He pampered his wrist with a thick water and that was all. Xue Yang still wore rings on his fingers, three bracelets, one that when closely examined, very much looked like a smarties candy bracelet.

_This child can’t harm me, _Xiao Xingchen told himself, a delicate smile on his lips. He could imagine whenever Xue Yang was bored, he would take to eating his bracelet for lack of anything better to do.

“Walk and talk,” Xue Yang said when he noticed him, and they did. During the short walk, Xiao Xingchen unsettlingly noticed the distance by which Xue Yang walked. Where the street lights appropriately shone on Xiao Xingchen, Xue Yang avoided, nestling himself in the dark path by the neatly trimmed bushes. The walk was filled with trivial talk, Xue Yang asking him how school was, what his recent assignment was, if he drove a car, how his week went, but there was something he wasn’t saying, and he seemed to be able to squeeze so much into a two minute walk. After all, Xue Yang could squeeze an essay worth of lyrics into each and every one of his songs. It was just like him to breeze through a conversation. But the more he spoke, it seemed to be asking only of Xiao Xingchen. When they reached the door, the older man couldn’t open it fast enough. Xue Yang smiled a “thank you” that was too polite on his face. Xiao Xingchen almost wanted to see the fang, but he didn’t. The young man had hidden it.

Xue Yang ordered something Xiao Xingchen could barely begin to decipher, a grande raspberry vanilla bean crème Frappuccino with javachips and extra caramel drizzle in a venti cup with extra ice and extra soy whip cream. Xiao Xingchen simply ordered an herbal mint majesty tea. The man had zero tolerance for caffeine for his system couldn’t process it. When he went to take a seat, Xue Yang seemed to hover by the coffee bar, speaking to the female barista for a few extended moments before he returned, taking a seat on the opposite end of Xiao Xingchen. Xue Yang began his little conversation sparkers again, something along the lines of how his week had consisted of minute hectic events that smeared his patience but was somewhat tolerable.

“You know, I just got off parol. It was a year and a half long. I feel like I can breathe again. The last thing I want is to run into some other shit,” he was saying, barely looking at Xiao Xingchen while speaking. The young man certainly couldn’t meet people’s eyes when he spoke. Had he always been like this?

“I agree,” Xiao Xingchen merely said, sipping dainty little amounts of the boiling hot tea. He knew something was utterly wrong, and it was soon approaching. He’d just wish that Xue Yang would stop dodging the actual topic, pulling in everything as the older man struggled from the inside to keep intact his composure.

“It’s fine for someone who isn’t involved with authority because they can walk in the light or the dark.” That’s what it was. Xue Yang had been rather cautious to traipse in the dark, avoiding any bit where he could be fathomed with recognition.

“Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen said, closing his eyes. He just wanted this to end. He didn’t like how careful Xue Yang was speaking, how he brought in little particles of the truth. He made the mint int the tea so powerful, Xiao Xingchen could barely stomach it.

“Shh,” Xue Yang hushed him. “Don’t say my name in public, Yuandao. What if people realize I’m me?” His tone began to fade into sarcasm, strict and cold, pushing the other man away. He didn’t allow Xiao Xingchen to speak again, going into another peak of conversation.

“Let me tell you about my week, Yuandao Dage. After you left, I went to go discard the shit garbage in my house and met the Huangs. Mingyu, you know Mingyu, right? Of course, you do. Mingyu told me something rather disturbing. When I informed him that you had been there to see them, where you know Mingyu, Mingyu certainly doesn’t seem to know who you are, Yuandao Dage. So I wanted to give you a chance anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t be the Huangs, maybe someone else knew you. I asked everyone else on the floor. Now, I’m not much of a talker when it comes to neighbors and shit, so I imagined talking to these people like talking to your dentist. I almost saw these people for the first time in my life. I figured with all these apartments, I’d eventually get to yours. Instead, every house was occupied at one point or another in the week and no one seems to know who you are, Yuandao. Now do you understand?”

Xiao Xingchen needed to calm down. He needed to think about candy bracelets and nineteen year old Xue Yang who couldn’t do him damage. He managed a single word, “Yes.”

“Great!” Xue Yang said theatrically. “Now two things can happen, alright? You tell me what floor you live on. You walk me there, and you show me that you can access it or, two, I’m going to sue.” His voice was a sickening candy sweet, slowly speaking as though Xiao Xingchen could not understand him.

Xiao Xingchen’s stomach dropped. “You can’t sue. I haven’t – “

“You don’t know what I’m capable of doing. I’ve learned a few things from my arrests. People will _twist _your words and motives no matter what the fuck you do or say, Yuandao. And I’ve learned how to do it. Take me there,” Xue Yang ordered. His maturity was arriving like rapid fire, in his childish expression, a very serious and dangerous man who had seen what the system was capable of.

“You can’t,” Xiao Xingchen needed to calm his breathing. His Xue Yang shrine was still open and visible. He couldn’t let Xue Yang into his home. He’d look _strange_.

“Take me there. I’ll _make _you tell me the truth.”

Xiao Xingchen didn’t doubt him. The words very much reminded him of himself, how he desperately wanted to make Xue Yang speak honestly, say it all in his verses, where only Xiao Xingchen would be able to spark it.

When they began to walk back, Xue Yang said his goodbyes to the female barista, and walked back silently in the dark. Xiao Xingchen almost wanted to yank him under the light and tell him that he didn’t always need to hide. But the entire ordeal only strengthened the fact that the young man needed to. People were out there to physically get him, to hurt him, to make him miserable and keep him there.

When they entered the elevator, Xiao Xingchen tapped the seventh floor button, watching as Xue Yang’s expression remained the same. He could sense his disappointment. The seventh floor was in an entire different part of the building. It was across from where Xue Yang resided and less prestigious. That wasn’t the point. The point was how far it was from where Xiao Xingchen claimed to live. Xiao Xingchen closed his eyes as he poured into the hallway like a dead thing, unable to carry his own feet as they brought him to his room door. He typed the code in for his password, a rather long one at that, before the door clicked open.

Xue Yang released an almost audible sigh of relief.

Xiao Xingchen’s hands were shaking beside him but Xue Yang suddenly said the following, “I’ll see you around.”

“Why aren’t you coming in?” Xiao Xingchen asked, hope just lying there on the tip of his tongue.

“I don’t need to.”

“You trust me?”

“Your eyes are too honest, Yuandao,” Xue Yang responded, a genuine smile with a fang. But Xue Yang had no idea what he had just said. Where Xiao Xingchen’s eyes were honest, Xiao Xingchen found that Xue Yang’s lips were honest. He stared at his mouth waiting like the words would escape and only he could hear them.

\---

It was the day of the banquet, or one of the convivial events that Xue Yang had attired under a charity work label. He worked the issue out with his previous parol officer, a sneaky smile on his face and hands in his pockets. He gave them the malevolency they expected of him, stealthy and patient to actual reason. It had been a full parol period since he had last been spotted at such events, and he felt the nerves of excitement tickle his tongue. He wanted chaos and peace all at once.

With the invitation, Xue Yang would be Wei Ying’s plus one guest. They had rocked paper scissors to see who would be the hand that dictated who was first invited, the piece of paper. At the least, the event did not cross names off a list, but functioned by the cordiality and presentation of the measly little square paper of absolute material, that sparkled with a “you’ve been cordially invited to…” and the rest did not matter. Xue Yang was ready to scare everyone away. Wei Ying was ready to dazzle the mainstream music world with an indie label.

Cameras were perched behind boundary polls, an extravagant red carpet that lined the floor to the entrance. So much for charity event. It was flamboyant as expected. Paparazzi waited, snapping their cameras away and reexamining the film to catch anything out of place. Then a familiar vehicle pulled up, a nardo grey Bugatti chiron with wheels that house a silver blue westernized XY. With blue lights illuminating the windshield and windows, the tinted affect could barely obscure them inside.

Xue Yang hated cameras.

He gripped the steering wheel with his eyes closed for a breath of a moment that Wei Ying failed to notice.

_Don’t look at them. Just walk, _Xue Yang told himself. It wasn’t a complicated task to blind him with those flashing lights, his memories flooding into his bloodstream and blocking his arteries. He wanted badly to smoke it away, every puff of the cigarette to numb himself and dissolve their image. In his head a metronome of “I didn’t do it I didn’t do it I didn’t do it,” echoed as though he was innocent of everything he had done. In a way, he felt like he was. It was a secret he kept to himself and waited to tell someone. He couldn’t find that person yet.

_Maybe you did do it_, he told himself, his knuckles turning white from the hold against the black of the wheel. His fingers hurt from clutching so tightly when Wei Ying turned to smile at him, that charming smile that melted spells even for just a short while.

“Let’s go!” Wei Ying said, excitement in every syllable. They were parked before the carpet entrance long enough. It had given the paparazzi enough time to discern the customized “XY” on his wheels, and with hopeful intellect, they prayer that it was who they thought it’d be. The material would appear as the following, “Xue Yang free from parol is back to expose himself in the music world as – “ as what?

Xue Yang troubled at it.

Pedophile.

Haunted.

Trouble maker.

He was all of the following and fuck them for saying so. When his doors swung upward, they stepped out in their full glamour. Wei Ying adorned a tight velvet red dress shirt with a white ruffle at his neck, dark black pants with a leather finish, and Christian Louboutin leather Chelsea boots in black with a spray painted white cross on the toe box. Xue Yang was clad in black the way he always was, a black blazer coat with tasseled shoulder blades, with black spikes aligning his buttoned packet stream, the bottom of the blazer a geometric hemn that hugged his hips and waist. Underneath, a cotton and leather plaster shirt, and a pair of tight black jeans with leather paneled knees and a little stitch of Saks Fifth avenue that appeared on his lower back at the top of the belt loop. Brunello Cucinelli black leather boots with a white still life rose pattern hugged his feet and kept him steady. He found his hands shaking as he drowned them in his back pocket to divert his apprehension with something more solid.

“Is that – it’s him! It’s him, it’s _Xue Yang_!” Someone hollered, the emphasis on his name like poison between the lips. It was stated as though all of his stories were brought along, what people had read and said, what he never got to say. Xue Yang blinked hard as the array of flashes came, but he smiled, walking nonchalantly waiting for the next scandal to hinder the camera women and men. After all, the man next to him held one of the biggest scandals to touch the music scene right after Xue Yang himself. At the very least, Xue Yang hadn’t been a part of the idol world.

“W-Wei,” someone said, as though they couldn’t believe their eyes. Xue Yang snickered, the flashes becoming a shade paler as he focused on the entrance. It was closer, within reach, and Wei fucking Ying needed to hurry up and stop waving and doing everything else he was doing because Xue Yang simply wanted to get the hell out of there.

_That’s right. Wei Wuxian. Say it, _he thought, keeping Wei Ying’s pace. The older man simply could not read the situation, swallowing up all of the flashes, swallowing up their expressions, taking what he rightfully deserved: recognition. But, it suddenly occurred to Xue Yang how incorrect it felt, this method. When the name finally left a face behind a camera as the following, “_Wei Wuxian_!” Xue Yang felt himself twitch with annoyance, the poison in his name also in his best friend’s. He desperately felt it then, at the edge of his fingertips, the need to hit something or someone. Wei Ying didn’t deserve the poison. Xue Yang knew what really happened, had believed him when he told him what actually occurred that night. To use the same tone compared to Xue Yang’s was disgusting. He wanted to hit them, have their cameras click as they published his violence. Xue Yang was a violent young man, he could feel it, pulsing, vibrating, right there in his fist. He dug down farther in his pocket to keep from doing so.

Xue Yang was on a different level than Wei Ying. Xue Yang’s name was a taboo, and though they spat Wei Ying’a name like a hindrance, it could never compare with Xue Yang’s assault to morals. He wished they would get their tones correctly, so that it wasn’t mistaken.

Wasn’t Xue Yang revolting? He was vulgar, repulsive, everything disgusting. He wanted to yell it at the top of his lungs, prove it to them, but he shrunk back, his traipse a little quicker than usual, his smile a bit too polite.

_‘Publicity is still publicity,’ _he thought, but he didn’t feel it. This wasn’t what he wanted, fame glory, wealth – there was other means to get it. But the more the thought pressured his brow, the more heinous a expression manifested on his face, the smile they wanted, the evil that came with his fang, the upturn of his thin lips, the glare of his eyes. Then he did it, put up a middle finger as he walked himself up to the invitation inspector and disappeared inside with Wei Ying, another scandal on the elite world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About to go on vacation so i'll have time to write!╰(*´︶`*)╯♡  
So far, I think WY and XY are a thing here bc that's a thing apparently (LMAO) XD Let me know if you want a love triangle or not because...dude.


	8. Where is He?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just be completely honest,’ Xue Yang remembered, the text from back then. The only person who had ever told him to be honest, and yet surrendered him over a dollar sign. That didn’t seem right either. Maybe that wasn’t even what happened, but Xue Yang needed that to fume his rage. He needed rage to fuel himself, if not rage, sorrow would take his life.

Inside was a collection of gold and vanilla wallpaper and curtains and carpeting and tableware, and everything. The glare of the massive chandeliers vexed his eyes, and he desperately needed to breathe without making it obvious that it was everything he required. Maybe a cigarette, maybe a shot of henny, maybe to go home and slumber away another 8 hours to self-collection.

_God, I hate myself, _Xue Yang thought, trying to appear composed. He did so, excellently. His expression was nefarious and sinister all at once, the smile never leaving the position of his lips. Wei Ying was still laughing behind him. Xue Yang liked to see the man laugh, his hair would bounce with them, the wavy little curls that appeared as though they had been carefully combed out for thickness. His red streaks had been braided in the manner Xue Yang usually had his hair done though where Wei Ying must’ve had a hair stylist carefully tighten them against his scalp, Xue Yang enjoyed watching youtube videos so he could perfect it himself. After all, his own stylists were not available when he was on parol and wanted nice hair. Take out was not available at 4am when he was sad and wanted food, so he had learned how to cook, which no longer mattered because parol had put him on a strict curfew. He was pretty much in slumber at 21h00. But now he had necessities, like he had to establish priorities when he was residing amongst the dirt particles of the street.

Something itched in his throat, a name perhaps, some sort of recollection. Something that would make the day’s events worth it, though he hadn’t known how to face it. The colors had suddenly reminded him of the man, how pale they were, angelic together, pale in face, in personality, in being.

Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen was rumored to never attend these types of events, but Xue Yang searched the room with his eyes nevertheless. He could pinpoint what it was that created the sudden urge to see him, maybe the urge to scoff at him and boast his own wealth, maybe to bow and say he was sorry, maybe to just say the following, “how are things?”

Xiao Xingchen had a quality about him that Xue Yang couldn’t forget had he tried, though he never attempted it. It was the man’s eyes. His bright brown eyes never failed to gaze directly into the onlooker and see _something_. So why had the man alerted the authorities and had Xue Yang taken away? Was wealth such an important factor? Was he so low a human being that he couldn’t understand Xue Yang had been struggling? Fuck him.

Xue Yang didn’t want to see him anymore.

But he did. He looked around, doing a full circle with his body. He saw so many faces, so many faces he recognized at one point or another, others that were completely obscured with unfamiliar means, complete strangers residing around him. Those expressions, the ones that only involved each other, never the onlooker, they resembled much the faces of those who had walked past the nine year old with a cup in one hand that had pleaded, “anything helps.”

“Where are your parents?” No one had asked. He never had an answer for the question they failed to ask. Maybe the topic was too sensitive for even someone like Wei Ying to touch upon, but he wanted to hear the question, wanted someone to take the risk of damaging him to learn just a bit more about what he felt.

_Nothing. I feel nothing, _he thought, but he _did_, he did because he was still looking around. Maybe he’d be amidst the tea table or the placid crumble cakes, or at the host’s table to thank them with a gift, or at the restroom to provide space for his introverted needs, or maybe, maybe he just wasn’t fucking here. Maybe he just didn’t come, because he never came to these events, and not even Xue Yang’s random burst of an entrance could’ve spared him what fate had in store: the following scenes were nothing. He felt and saw nothing.

_Why did you go on hiatus?_ Xue Yang thought, taking himself about a naked chair, a ribbon tied on the back as some sort of strange attire for a bare cushion on four wooden legs, a back rest that supported Xue Yang physically but lacked the emotional comfort. Not even Xue Yang’s fans could do that, and they did everything for him.

“I’m here for the music,” they said, and his music wasn’t honest either, but they didn’t know, didn’t have to. Who wasn’t here for the music? Who would actually come for Xue Yang himself?

“You’re sexy,” some would say, and the words wanted to leave Xue Yang’s mouth like tears that desperately wanted to slide from his eyelashes and drip off his chin. They were the following, “then love me.” Not as a fan, not as a stranger, but as someone to Xue Yang, a friend even.

_Love me_, he thought again, reaching out to Wei Ying when the man came back with some champagne and another cup of some orange appearing liquid.

“I know you hate the taste of champagne so I got orange juice too. Oh, and they have baby carrots. Can you believe?” He placed them down before the younger man, sitting beside him, his demeanor cheerful and nonchalant all at once. Then Xue Yang recognized it, it was too cheerful, too nonchalant, and the items he had brought over, the juice and especially the baby carrots were Xue Yang’s favorite. Wei Ying _did_ read him, read all of his hysteria and agitation, maybe some of the anxiety too, but he didn’t want to approach it. He was careful enough just to give comfort.

_Would Xiao Xingchen have asked the question? Would he risk it and ask? _Xue Yang thought, because the man’s eyes were honest, and brown like tree bark, when peeled away, the naked truth of the oak underneath. The question was a simple little thing, but it opened up the wounds that Xue Yang failed to close up. He hadn’t stitched them yet for he didn’t have a full answer to the question. It was the following, “what’s wrong?”

So simple. So complicated to answer. Never once did he hear it. Even Mr. Song dodged the question, and instead would say, “fix your face,” in the stead of “don’t be sad,” maybe even a “please,” if Xue Yang was especially down.

_‘Just be completely honest,’ _Xue Yang remembered, the text from back then. The only person who had ever told him to be honest, and yet surrendered him over a dollar sign. That didn’t seem right either. Maybe that wasn’t even what happened, but Xue Yang needed that to fume his rage. He needed rage to fuel himself, if not rage, sorrow would take his life. He needed blood curdling fuming rage, and he had enough of it for the man. It wasn’t going to prison that did it. It was those eyes that failed to ask him the fucking question even now. Xue Yang ignored that he had cut off Xiao Xingchen midsentence that day. He ignored that he changed his number after the pedophile incident. Ignored that he ignored the man’s messages. Ignored the fact that it wasn’t Xiao Xingchen’s responsibility to look for him again.

_But I’m A-Yang…don’t I matter? _His hands were shaking again. Even Wei Ying didn’t call him A-Yang, he needed the validation from a complete stranger, that’s what Xiao Xingchen was now.

Ah, that was it. His anger was because Xiao Xingchen was a stranger to him now, and the fire was directed at himself, not at the other man.

_I could’ve been something. I could’ve had comfort. Someone could’ve been there that day and said the fucking words. They could’ve asked me, could’ve held me, could’ve told me what I don’t even know myself. God, I didn’t do it, did I? Did I do it? Tell me, did I do it? _He agonized, his eyes burning from the exhaustion. Xiao Xingchen’s eyes looked like they wanted to know, know things that others didn’t dare to know. His kindness was just a way to cover up the curiosities of his eyes, Xue Yang was sure of it. Or he was talking himself into a whole and wanted Wei Ying to call him, “A-Yang.” He needed at least one person to call him those two syllables again, just once, for peace.

And then what?

_‘A promise is a promise.’_

_‘I’ll be behind you. I’ll be there one day,’ _that’s what Xue Yang had responded. Maybe it was time to leap after all. Maybe he could finally confront all of these scattered pieces of misery, confront them and end them completely. He would take all of it with him.

\---

Xue Yang’s hands were shaking badly. It took him at least seven baby carrots and two sips of orange juice before he took over his intellect again. He hadn’t taken his pills to help with the drug withdrawal, and now he severely needed to smoke.

“I need a smoke,” he told Wei Ying, who appeared extravagant before a glass of champagne. There was something about these events that was very much hypnotized by his presence, and Xue Yang was glad to see that his friend graced the lackluster event with his eccentric quality. The mundane draw of conversation became hushed whispers, and a scatter of glimpses in their direction, and still no one had moved to speak to them.

“Dude, seriously? Probably not best to go out there with them,” Wei Ying told him, one leg perched on his seat. He was so comfortable that it was seemingly frightening. Xue Yang simply wanted to return home, ruffle up his sheets until they were a hazard mess compared to the rest of his suite, and then hide there.

“I really need a smoke,” because he did. He needed his sanity and it was inside of a nicotine stick. Wei Ying’s hair looked so luscious and soft, Xue Yang could’ve run his fingers through them, further combing the waves like puffs of cigarette smoke in the air.

_I really am losing my mind, _Xue Yang thought, standing up to excuse himself. He stole another carrot from the plate and made his way out of the banquet hall. Wei Ying followed after him, and he appreciated the maneuver. A companion of a stroll was better than individual misery. When they neared the main hall to exit, a mischievous looking man appeared. He was quite skinny, sharp eyes and small face that would’ve been called angelic if not for his heinous expression.

“Wei Wuxian, my goodness, how long has it been?” The man asked, and Xue Yang could immediately discern the difference in Wei Ying’s demeanor. The older man had taken in a sharp breath, then faded into an overly obsessive smile that focused on absolute cordiality.

“Wen Chao, how have you been? It has been a while hasn’t it?”

“It sure has, buddy!” Wen Chao’s voice was a wicked thing, and Xue Yang only discerned it for he had utilized the same tone with persons before. “Listen, I was so excited when I heard that you came. You’re the talk of the whole banquet! I had to go tell brother Lan myself. He’ll be just as excited to see you.”

Wei Ying paled. Pale was not Wei Ying’s color.

Xue Yang felt his own instincts take over his mechanisms, finding himself standing just a bit in front of the other. He struck Wen Chao with his own version of the expression. Where Wen Chao’s was heinous, Xue Yang’s was an amiable threat, a complete disaster on a beautiful face. The man took a step back just as Xue Yang smiled.

“Wen Chao, is it? I’ve heard _very_ little of you unfortunately, and it’s rude on my part not to further our acquaintance. Pleased to meet you,” Xue Yang said, his voice candy sweet.

“Why y-yes, of course,” Wen Chao began, toughening his composure by squaring his shoulders. There wasn’t a point. Xue Yang could be fierce even with slouching posture, because it was innate.

“It is a shame that you haven’t heard of me. I work with Lan Xichen,” there it was, a boast. Wen Chao obviously had no idea who he was speaking to.

“Oh? That’s wonderful to hear. What row?” Xue Yang knew what row. He knew many things about the music scene. He may not have recognized Wen Chao, but he certainly heard of the name and its whereabouts. And Wei Ying had told him his share of adventures with the man.

Wen Chao hesitated, his lips tightening. “Fourth.”

“The last row? Oh, they should’ve put you in the front, you’re shorter! You poor thing. In that case, no one can see you. You’re on good terms with brother Lan, correct? You should talk to him about moving you up.” Xue Yang retained his absolute smile, not meeting Wei Ying’s expression. To exalt dominance, one must lock eyes with the victim. He stared directly into Wen Chao.

“Oh, but, who would lead from the back?” Wen Chao challenged, finding that Xue Yang’s knowledge of their positions fell into ignorance.

“My dear, Wen Chao, as a soloist, I will tell you that leaders do not stand in the back. Friends do, because they have your back. Wei Ying here has told me so much about your friendship. It only makes sense to stand where you are. You surely have been a great friend to him, even after his departure and you are still looking after him. How kind you are!”

This time, Wen Chao paled at his words. Not even his square shoulders could shield him. Xue Yang’s tongue after all, was a blade, and it could pierce or manipulate. Either way, he could oppose the simplicity of a handheld guard.

“You’re a soloist?” The man asked instead, attempting to alleviate the conversation.

“For nine years, friend. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“But of course, tell me, what is your name?” Faux courtesy.

“My name is _Xue Yang_,” he replied, using the same poison that came with his name. He could utilize it too, capitalize it, become it.

Wen Chao took a physical step backwards, his expression faltering for a moment.

_That’s right, you Wen dog. You don’t know who you’re messing with, _Xue Yang thought. He could still feel his hands shaking beside him so he interlocked them behind his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...so vacation did not give me a lot of time to write after all. I'll update twice this week to make it up to you guys ♥  
So sorry Xiao Xingchen isn't like...in this chapter at all, but he's here in spirit!


	9. He liked it terribly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xue Yang was not going to pry, but he liked to have Yuandao winning. For no reason at all, it bought a little giddiness in his chest like he was playing a game, a game with a friend, where secrets crushed everything but no one spoke them aloud.

Xue Yang couldn’t deal with it anymore. His hands were violently shaking behind him, and he needed to excuse himself before he caused the both of them to lose face. Had he taken his medicine that morning? He couldn’t remember. He needed vodka, his xannies, a syringe, _something_. Any of them would do. He just needed it.

_God, damn it, _came his thoughts. The last thing he was allowed to do here were drugs. The last thing he was allowed to do period, was drugs. He didn’t want to end out in prison again. Not anymore. He had two friends now. Two whole friends. One for his left arm and one for his right arm, even if that meant they were binding them behind him to keep him from pumping the drugs through his system.

“Well, was good to meet you, mate. Duty calls,” Xue Yang half lied. Duty _did _call, but it called for unnatural defects in his body. Right now it was calling for a nicotine stick and a lighter put together for ecstasy. He shot Wen Chao a look that dared him to try anything else, then started for the exit hall.

“Do you need me to – “

“No. I’ll be right back. I just need to think,” he told Wei Ying. In actuality, he needed to not think, not think about how Xiao Xingchen wasn’t here and still in hiatus like he was allowed to. Not think about how they had left on a bad footing, and perhaps Xiao Xingchen could’ve been the third friend he desperately needed, the only one that would’ve asked the question, maybe.

_Screw him. Maybe Yuandao will ask the question. Yeah, I don’t need him. Yuandao will do just fine. _With this thought, he walked past the restroom, and continued down the hall until he found the exit door. His mind was just beginning to clear for the night, his shaking easing just a bit while he retaught himself how to relax because it was a simple task for him to forget.

_‘Just be honest.’_

“I’m freaking out here, dude,” Xue Yang said out loud, his breaths getting caught in his throat. He opened the door and stepped out, allowing the air the wash over his cheeks and paint them red. And then a click.

Another click. A diminutive annoying flash. Flashes. Little beams. Bright flares. Cameras.

_Oh, _he thought just as one flash blinded him. Xue Yang did not do well before the cameras. He could not do flashes they.

Triggered him.

Like the gun he was hiding. A trigger.

He staggered backwards just as another flare caused spots to flutter his vision. Stars danced in his line of vision as he floated off into the galaxy. His body removed from the linings of his skin, dancing in the coming twilight, ready to ascend with the light.

“It’s Xue Yang!” Some part of the mound of paparazzi called out. They ran as far as they could, flooding the exit as they snapped pictures. Xue Yang dropped the cigarette that was in his hands, unable to see as it fell down the three treads to common ground. The only thing keeping him from the paparazzi were the three treads, and a little banner that said “VIP ONLY.” It was a silly banner. They could easily knock it over and get closer. And then what? And _then what_?

_‘Rapper Xue Yang accused of raping seventeen year old girl.’_

_‘Rapper Xue Yang pleads innocence.’_

_‘People have taken to the streets to boycott Xue Yang events and concerts.’_

_‘Rapper Xue Yang sentenced for ten years.’_

_‘Rapper Xue Yang bailed out by loyal manager.’_

_“Cut his contract. He’s a fucking pedo.”_

_“He’s sick.”_

_“He deserves to die.”_

_“Justice for ___! Down with Xue Yang!”_

_“Xue Yang do you still plead innocence now that you’ve been bailed free?”_

_“How does it feel to be the most hated person in Beijing?”_

_“Xue Yang! Here! Over here! I have a few questions!”_

Cameras. They took him back to the very morning where he woke up and wanted to cry just as badly as the girl was. Who was she to cry? Fuck, he wanted to too. He was so far removed, he couldn’t even remember her name. The more he pushed it away, the less he could recall. He had written songs. Songs as soon as the case was closed and he was bailed free, the remnants of what he could remember. Now it was a blur, and he had planted the binder of verses somewhere in the piles of lyrics he kept to himself.

S_top stop stop! Stop!_ Maybe it was the same word that his victim had shouted. Maybe he was so drunk he couldn’t hear her. Maybe he just wanted what he wanted and took advantage of her. Maybe he should’ve still been in prison.

_‘Just be honest.’ _The cameras told him to be honest. Those reporters, those paparazzi, they wanted the truth. Xue Yang had it. It was so tightly embedded in his throat that someone had to reach in and pull it free. His eyes stung as it caught his tongue and the words squirmed free. “I did it,” he whispered, eyes delirious, the world spinning above him. “I did it,” he whispered again, not loud enough for anyone to hear. He backed into the door, the back of his head knocking into it, ravaging the still frame he was attempting to form. The world became a smudge of black and he could sense his knees caving in, the foundation of his legs stuttering under his weight. Then the door opened, and someone with long black hair and red streaks reached out to him. It happened in slow motion, the hands around his wrists, pulling him firmly up for he was starting to tumble.

“Xue Yang,” the voice called him. It was a fun and soothing sort of voice, one you could incessantly speak to and never tire of but feign annoyance. He followed the voice and found Wei Ying standing before him, hands traveling up to his shoulders and squeezing.

“That looks like enough for one day, right? Why don’t we head home?” Wei Ying asked, his voice still upbeat and cheerful. Xue Yang decided he must not choke out his response. He shook his head to free his it from his tainted thoughts, the flashes falling to his background and Wei Ying in his foreground, a clearer vision.

“That…that sounds like a good idea,” Xue Yang managed a smile. He patted Wei Ying’s hand for the contact and opened the door just as a picture of both of them was taken, maybe a dozen of them. He didn’t have to think about it right away. That was a topic for another day, so was seeing Lan Wangji down the hall watching Wei Ying. That was also a topic for another day. Lan Wangji could have him on a different day. Right now, he needed his company, needed that comfort.

Lan Wangji looked like he knew Xiao Xingchen. He looked just a smidge different than his brother, the only factor that told Xue Yang who he was. He didn’t want to think about Xiao Xingchen right now. He was exhausted and barely upholding his walk, his feet dragging behind him and his body hunching forward.

“Wei Ying,” Wangji called out, but Xue Yang had looked at his friend as if to plead for him to keep walking. Wei Ying was pale, but most certainly not as pale as Xue Yang had turned. He gazed down at him and smiled, walking past Wangji with his name on his lips.

_Love me, _Xue Yang suddenly thought. He needed it, something to satiate it, his need for love, even if it came as a simple embrace. Just then he received a text from Yuandao.

[Have you gotten drunk there? (I hope not.) I made soup just for the occasion in case you decided to decide. My place or your place?]

19h57

Xue Yang found himself smiling at the message. How sweet of Yuandao to swear he was going to get drunk despite him hating champagne. If he were honest, Xue Yang would’ve gone back and gotten drunk if his parole officer wasn’t ready to put him back on cuffs or throw him into rehabilitation again.

His fingers found his keys and he quickly responded.

[ Your place. Let me in.]

19h57

\---

He had to admit to himself that the thought of entering someone else’s home alarmed him and weakened his knees. The last home Xue Yang had entered was one of his exes, and he had taken to understanding just how exactly insane the girl had been. He had had his share of partners, and only had one he appreciated, so much so that he had decided to let her go. There was too much that came with Xue Yang’s name, and the young man was not prepared to allow anyone carry the weight of him. He needed someone just as dirty, just as tainted, and Wei Ying was perfect.

Yuandao was not. Yuandao was simply a rich as hell university student, _but _he knew the ways of the hacker. There was something about him that direly showed that, that and the fact that the man had told him himself that his entire major was learning how to cheat. He appreciated the older man, and had to confess that looking him in the eyes calmed him intensely.

His eyes were so honest, perhaps they wanted Xue Yang to be honest as well. Or he was attempting again to make someone appear exactly the way Xiao Xingchen did. With his long black hair, trimmed to perfection, his tiny ass face and pale beyond pale skin, he was a…perfect ghost.

_No! That’s Yuandao. Yuandao is better. For instance, he’s not an asshole, _Xue Yang told

himself. When he dropped Wei Ying off, the older man lingered for a moment, and though they

didn’t lock eyes, the two had wanted to.

“Thanks for y’know,” Xue Yang said.

“Bring it in, Brother. Bring it in,” Wei Ying reached over and embraced him, not bearing a clue that it was something Xue Yang desperately wanted. He returned the embrace with his heart in his sleeves, slipping just a bit of it on Wei Ying’s collar so it could kiss the nape of his neck. When he realized that he still hadn’t let go, he released his arms quickly. Wei Ying didn’t seem to notice, or he had gotten comfortable. Xue Yang wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

“Alright, now get out my car. I have places to be,” Xue Yang said, trying to redeem himself as well as quicken the process as not to have Yuandao wait. There was something odd about making the man wait, and yet it seemed that the man could wait a rather long time before he complained. Yuandao didn’t look the type to complain anyway, but it didn’t mean that Xue Yang wouldn’t complain in his place for him.

“What lady’s place are you about to crash, throwing me out so early?” Wei Ying joked. Xue Yang rolled his eyes and pictured Yuandao as a female, his long black hair was straight to Wei Ying’s waves. It would be easier to run your fingers through, or comb. It looked soft like Xiao Xingchen’s hair. And Xue Yang had simply paid attention to _that _man’s hair because he thought about grabbing it and tossing the man’s head into the edge of a table. But now that he thought about it, the man’s hair was very luscious and taken care of. Not as luscious as Xue Yang’s hair, but Xue Yang needlessly bought things to make himself feel better. Xiao Xingchen probably didn’t do that anymore, accustomed all his damn life to splendor since he was nine, and still wanted the pocket money Xue Yang had stolen from him.

That’s it. He would enjoy his time with Yuandao. He would eat soup. He would forget about that fiend. He would even tell Yuandao that he didn’t drink anything besides orange juice because he really liked it, and baby carrots were almost as good as candy. He suddenly wondered if Xiao Xingchen would stop him if he jumped off a building. It sent frost up his spine but excitement in his bones. He wanted the man to say what everyone else did, how everyone told him to kill himself. Oh, Xue Yang was going to do it, but for himself. He just needed a quick distraction, and one last glimpse of the man before he ended things. At least now, something good would come from his death, how it didn’t just appease him but everyone else too. If someone else would ask Xue Yang to be honest, he would simply reply with the following, “I want to be dead.”

\---

Xiao Xingchen had placed a lock on his shrine, enclosing it in the cabinet that it always lied in, two opened doors laid to rest. He didn’t know what had gotten into him, suddenly texting Xue Yang like he had a right. He had no right. Not after the incident. He held his breath, knowing for sure that he was going to be ignored when Xue Yang’s reply came in, in the exact minute. He didn’t even make like he had things to do, but instead, answered right away. That had to mean something. Xiao Xingchen’s heart was beating wildly in his chest in some manner of hope. He placed his hand over his breast, afraid that it would fall out if he wasn’t careful. Perhaps he was still in good standing. Maybe everything was alright. All he had to do was cover the fact that he was a fanatic and hell bent on the justice system even though he was a black hat hacker and his name wasn’t even Yuandao, and just how much more was he going to lie, because it began to weigh on him. His shoulders felt heavy with it, draining the little energy he had to remove himself to the kitchen. He hadn’t even made the soup. His fingers just acted on their own. Why was he like this? Now Xue Yang was coming over for the soup and he hadn’t even prepared it yet.

At least it wouldn’t be a lie if Xue Yang came and the soup had been prepared. He relieved himself with this thought and began the preparations. Meanwhile, Xue Yang drove along the road thinking about the cologne Wei Ying used. Xue Yang didn’t use cologne. The scent was intoxicating and reminded him of his highs, so he took to the short outbursts from a fragile perfume bottle, a scent that would leave within two hours, lifting from his skin like everyone who ever left him. He bothered at the wheel. Wei Ying really was such a red guy. Xue Yang couldn’t decide if he preferred the color red or not, how passionate it was and fiery. His eyes were green, complimentary to the red, like it belonged together. But still, something hadn’t felt right, like Xue Yang steered somewhere he shouldn’t, and maybe he ought to keep a distance. To keep everyone safe. Wei Ying might’ve been a taboo on the idol world, but he didn’t need to be involved with the darkest taverns of Xue Yang’s life, though for some reason the young man knew the other would walk with him, and it frightened him, almost to the extent of running a red light. There it was again, red. It glared into his eyes as if it desired to mix the two colors again.

For some reason, Xiao Xingchen felt vulnerable, as if he was bare and there were onlookers. He rolled his long sleeves down to his wrists despite putting his hands in the water. Perhaps having Xue Yang over at his place was a terrible idea. There was something about an abode that gave everything about you away, like how he had posters up in his room that displayed Xue Yang with no shame. He instantly dropped the legume, running toward his bedroom and took to tearing the posters from the wall when he froze midway, the picture hanging off for dear life like Xue Yang was asking him to catch him. The entire ordeal felt wrong. No, he couldn’t simply remove Xue Yang from his walls. He couldn’t have the physical Xue Yang in these walls either, not while his vulnerability showed. Yuandao was supposed to be a stranger, and a stranger he would act, not like himself, a man obsessed with honesty and on someone else’s tongue. He texted Xue Yang the simplest forms of his thoughts.

[I changed my mind. You can’t come over. I’ve laundry. I’ll drop by your place with soup for dinner. I need to clean up.]

20h18

It wasn’t a full lie. He _did _have laundry, he _did _need to clean up, Xue Yang _definitely _couldn’t come over. This was splendid. He was getting away with all of his half lies, and little guilt that came along with it. He was getting better at this. He could trick Xue Yang if he wanted.

He stopped midway through his kitchen just as an idea past him. Surely, if an abode was a vulnerable place, Xue Yang’s suite must’ve held some clues about the case. He simply had to enter himself and find a way to locate those clues, and walk out of there. How easily said and impossibly done. This was going terribly.

Xue Yang received the text with a smirk. He fancied the fact that this Yuandao had his secrets, how he obviously hid them and made no effort to cover up his trail. Xue Yang was not going to pry, but he liked to have Yuandao winning. For no reason at all, it bought a little giddiness in his chest like he was playing a game, a game with a friend, where secrets crushed everything but no one spoke them aloud. He would walk directly into Yuandao’s palm, and in victory, Yuandao still couldn’t do a single thing to him. He liked that. He liked it terribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so i'm so stuck on who should be in the love triangle, Wei Ying or Song Lan??? I NEED SUGGESTIONS.  
Btw, was so hard to type this on the plane because the lady next to me kept reading omfg.


	10. You Won't See Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Xue Yang, I really don’t think you should have that last shot. Here, hand it to me,” came Yuandao’s voice. In his current state, Xue Yang could openly admit to himself that Yuandao’s voice was soft and beautifully intellectual. He was free to lavish in all of his mixed feelings, facing them separately or all together, because none of it would make sense and he wouldn’t be penalized for anything he said now. He was invincible.

Manager Song was standing in front of the suite door, not leaning on anything the way comforted people would, but standing there like the menacing man he was. Xue Yang took physical steps backwards when he spotted the man, and yet there was nowhere to run seeing that the two basically resided together, or at least Manager Song acted like that was the case. It was like having your parole officer constantly present, but he cared about you in a threatening manner.

“Xue Yang,” Manager Song called out without looking up just as Xue Yang rounded a corner and thought about dying in his car to avoid confrontation. He hadn’t told Manager Song about his decision to go to the event, or that he had spoken to his parole officer about his “charity work.”

“What did I say?” The older man started, taking a deep breath as though the other had already offended him.

“You said Xue and then Yang,” the other responded, not to be snark, but he couldn’t think about anything else to say.

“Get over here!” Manager Song said, grabbing him by the fabric on his shoulder, which wasn’t an easy task considering it was leather. They entered the suite as Manager Song tossed him onto the armchair the way he usually did before a scolding.

“I can explain,” Xue Yang began.

“Did you drink?”

“Orange juice.”

“Breathe.”

“Seriously?”

“I said breathe!”

Xue Yang exhaled with his lips parted so the older man could take a sniff. When he smelled no traces of alcohol, Manager Song narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Did you take anything?”

“Natural antioxidant?”

“_Xue Yang_.”

“I ate carrots, Manager Lan! I ate carrots and drank orange juice. My shit is going to be hella’ orange. What else do you want me to say? Yuandao had an event he was invited to because his family is filthy rich and he just has money to give away, but he’s so busy in school that he doesn’t go. _So, _I went for him! It’s for musicians, c’mon.”

“Y-Yuandao? Yuandao? For the love of – “

The door bell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Xue Yang said happily, running towards the door like big big boss man had offered him a coke. The only coke he wanted now was cocaine, but that didn’t matter. He had company. When he opened the door, he saw Yuandao with oven mittens on, holding a big pot of soup. Xue Yang hated soup, but a smile crept on his face when he saw the man. It seemed, whenever he saw Yuandao, the guy was in pajamas and Xue Yang was always way overdressed. It made him feel inferior to be so dazzled up. After all, Yuandao had that pale cool breeze about him that was calming, a natural calm that made the grass of Xue Yang’s green eyes cultivate flowers.

“Speak of the devil!” Xue Yang said theatrically, a tone that also gestured that his and Manager Song’s conversation would continue _after _Xue Yang’s friend had finished serving him soup and went back to his own suite. It was common courtesy. Xue Yang had that.

“You’re on to _something_,” his manager replied. His eyes locked with Xiao Xingchen’s despite the man avoiding the stiff contact.

“May I come in? This is very hot,” Xiao Xingchen said. Xue Yang’s manager looked at him in the manner his own manager had looked at Xue Yang. Perhaps he was recognized, but could he bother at securing a threatening glare at someone like Mister Song Lan? Probably not. Manager Song was a notorious manager, having had remained by Xue Yang’s side despite all of the obstacles. If he could deal with Xue Yang, he could definitely penetrate Xiao Xingchen’s false persona. At this point, the man wasn’t so sure if it was a persona or not. Maybe he was overprotective of Xue Yang in the same manner that Manager Song was. That meant they were the same. They could ever be friends, sharing that same agenda, and getting along, and.

Manager Song was glaring daggers into Xiao Xingchen’s chest as he rounding the tabletop and placed the pot of soup on a cooling rack.

“What type of soup is it?” Xue Yang asked, like he could taste the tension on his tongue and wanted another flavor. Xiao Xingchen was a flavorless man. He could not offer taste.

“Hangover soup,” he replied gently.

“Great. I was planning on getting drunk today anyway.” Xue Yang was chipper, his smile larger than his usual smirk. It was similar to speaking to a child, or the nineteen year old rapper with dreams.

“Xue Yang,” came Manager Song, carefully taking bowls from the cabinet and setting it beside Xiao Xingchen. He groveled for eye contact again, his vision crawling up Xiao Xingchen’s skin, but the man ignored him. He must’ve allow Manager Song to unnerve him or he would lose all courage. This wasn’t about him. This was about Xue Yang, and he was prepared to do a lot for the boy. 

“I had a long day. I want to drink,” and with that, the boy was no longer a boy but a man soaking the pores of his tongue with the bitterness of vodka straight from the bottle. The maneuver caused Xiao Xingchen to cringe, but he retained the delicacy of a smile under his nose and began to pour the soup contents out with a ladle.

“Well, I sure as hell also had a long day. Do you mind if I eat first, Brother Yuandao?” Manager Song asked. His tone was overly amiable, and he received a look from Xue Yang, but was steadfast on whatever it was he was actually doing.

“But of course. I’m sure you’ve both had a very long day, but Xue Yang, if you’re planning on intoxicating yourself, you’ll have to wait for the soup as to have it later.” Xiao Xingchen used the same sort of cordiality, though his never emerged as something false. His tone was very regulated, like the wind, a soft breeze in your hair. He was used to using that somehow to his advantage. It was deceptive, and he was not a deceptive man, so he had nothing to bother it.

“Xue Yang’s not getting drunk,” came Manager Song. “Are you, Xue Yang?”

Xue Yang smiled up at his manager. The way the boy saw it, as long as he had company, Manager Song would be forced to behave as well. He couldn’t overly barge in on Xue Yang’s personality boundary and couldn’t exercise his demands over him. If he did, Xue Yang could easily utilize Yuandao as protection. He took another mouthful of vodka for good measure just as Manager Song frowned on him. The older man took a look at the guest and tightened his lips. Wonderful. Xue Yang was permitted to act out, and not even his manager could stop him. It was such a pleasure to have friends.

\----

Xue Yang was intoxicated to the point of disgust, his head leaning into his arms as he tried to hold up his bodyweight at the table. He could count over seven sofas in his living room despite knowing he merely had two for its sufficient space as integrity to some sort of adequate design. Nothing was structured in his line of vision, just a mass of curls that created cool toned motifs while he struggled to remember who the hell he was.

“Xue Yang, I really don’t think you should have that last shot. Here, hand it to me,” came Yuandao’s voice. In his current state, Xue Yang could openly admit to himself that Yuandao’s voice was soft and beautifully intellectual. He was free to lavish in all of his mixed feelings, facing them separately or all together, because none of it would make sense and he wouldn’t be penalized for anything he said now. He was invincible.

“Lemme’ tell _you _something, Yuan-Yuandao,” he started, and forgot what it was he needed to say. Xiao Xingchen waited patiently though he knew nothing but nonsense was going to leave the boy’s lips. He wished Xue Yang wasn’t so dressed up. His hair was nicely braided tight against his scalp on the left, the weight of his hair resting on his right shoulder, falling in soft curls. Who ever had done his care had patient and thoughtful hands, careful with precision. Xue Yang looked beautiful under the light of the chandelier.

“Did you hear me?” Xue Yang whined, nearly falling from the chair. Manager Song sighed impatiently at his behavior and almost seemed apologetic that his, what seemed like a nephew, was acting in such a manner.

“I heard you, Xue Yang. What is it you’d like to tell me? Just be honest,” Xiao Xingchen said, the tone of his voice was relaxed and gentle, the way he had always spoken to Xue Yang. Something seemed to strike the boy just then, his eyes widening before he frowned.

“I _love _honesty!” He yelled, throwing himself across the table and closing in on the other. “I don’t know a thing about it. Isn’t it just like me to love something I don’t like get?”

“Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen said at the same time Manager Song did. Xiao Xingchen could discern the hurt in Manager Song’s voice as he called out.

“No no, really. Hear me out, dudes. I don’t know a fucking thing about anything. I don’t even know what’s happening to me right now. I’m _baaalling_,” Xue Yang laughed, his voice heavy with the drip of alcohol. He stumbled forward just as Xiao Xingchen rose to catch him, eyebrows furrowed, and concern written on his features.

“You remind me of someone I used to know,” Xue Yang said, eyes opening and slowly draping shut.

“That’s wonderful, Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen replied, trying to straighten up the boy but he clung onto his waist, hunched over on his arms.

“No! No, it’s not! You know why?”

“Why. Xue Yang?”

“Because he was– “

“That’s enough for a day,” came Manager Song. He approached like a fiend and snatched Xue Yang right from Xiao Xingchen’s arms without giving him a second look. “I thank you for the soup, Brother Yuandao. I’m afraid i’m going to ask you to leave for the evening as Xue Yang desperately requires some rest. He’s quite un-ordered.”

Xiao Xingchen didn’t move, but he watched as Manager Song carried Xue Yang like he weighed nothing, into the bedroom where they disappeared for quite a bit. Still, Xiao Xingchen refused to see himself out. He took a glimpse of the collected piles of lyrics and noticed a striking red binder, thick with sheets of paper. It was uncomely clean compared to the random outbursts of lyrics found scribbled on napkins and printer paper. The binder zipped up so the contents inside were safely guarded, and on the zippers was a little lock. Before Xiao Xingchen could think to reach out and take a hold of it, Manager Song had exited the bedroom, a look of surprise and expectation as he discovered Xiao Xingchen’s presence to still be within the perimeters of their home.

“Xiao Xingchen,” he suddenly said, returning to the dinner table with absolute nonchalance, his hands working to collect the dishes and his eyes refuting the contact of the other’s. Xiao Xingchen turned in the direction of Xue Yang’s bedroom up the golden staircase, but nothing else occurred.

“He’s fast asleep,” Manager Song said. The little clinks of the dishes could be heard as he rounded them into a small stack and proceeded to take them to the sink. The entire ordeal destroyed his composure in the same manner that Xue Yang’s interrogation did. He was sure that his honest eyes could not surpass the casual scrutiny of the boy’s rigid manager. To make matters worse, Song Lan appeared to be Xiao Xingchen’s age. Perhaps his rationale matched the level by which Xiao Xingchen paid close attention to details, and he would be pulled apart.

“You seem to worry on that. I supposed that bothers you.”

“I’m afraid it does, Manager Song,” he replied, not moving from whence he was positioned. His arms draped by his side like useless things that couldn’t protect against the sting of a cursed word, in this case, his name.

“Just Song Lan is fine. From one adult to another adult, I will not pry and question why it is you’re doing that which you’ve taken to doing. Surely, you’ve your reasons for such…irrational behavior.” Song Lan cleared his throat as he turned the sink on and naturally began to wash the dishes, his back to the other.

“I thank you, um, Brother Song.”

“However, adulthood has its degree by which is can be quite demanding, but the larger picture is quite logical, you see. I present to you as a fellow adult to another, a request if you will? Won’t you kindly consider marginalizing your contact with my Xue Yang?”

_‘My Xue Yang,”?_ Xiao Xingchen repeated in his mind, like the words were more accursed than his name. If Xue Yang belonged to anyone, it would most certainly be Brother Song, and yet the taste of that was like alcohol on Xiao Xingchen tongue, and he was too sober to acknowledge it. And then the rest of Song Lan’s request impaled him, and he suddenly had to catch his breath, though he stood completely still so he could recollect his thoughts and adequately respond.

“You see, Xue Yang, though he doesn’t appear to look it in the slightest, might be a little more sensitive to company much to contrary belief, and it’s a highly complicated task for me to keep an eye on him while he squanders his time with some false pretense of what he discerns as fun. It is not fun. It is actually highly detrimental to him and his health.”

“You’re asking me to – .”

“Yes, I’m asking you to stay away from him. Some distance, _please, _Brother Xiao. For what ever reason, Xue Yang is unable to recollect your details and identify you, but I will not hinder his progress by triggering him again. Please render some distance.”

“I,” Xiao Xingchen began, but there must’ve been some truth in what Song Lan was saying. But for Xue Yang to become triggered? Was that also a practice? Was there some sort of trauma that made Xue Yang relive his nightmares?

_The rape case, _Xiao Xingchen answered for himself. He closed both of his eyes for a brief moment before he opened them and glanced into Song Lan’s serious grey orbs. “Yes, of course.”

Song Lan released a visible sigh of relief before a smile collected itself across his face and he turned to the other, giving him his undivided attention.

“I thank you for your understanding,”

_I think there is a misunderstanding. I can’t…possibly be such a cause of demise for Xue Yang’s health. I _am _the key. I’ll free him. Don’t you see, Brother Song? You’re wrong, _Xiao Xingchen thought, but in actuality he nodded with a smile.

“You will no longer see me in his presence,” he said aloud. _Just you. You won’t see me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Ten chapters in and we're finally getting somewhere. I'm gonna' have a book by the end of this, jeez.   
You guys seem to like obsessive XXC like...a lot so here we go!


	11. Black Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it was rude. His comment was rude. Xingchen could feel the corner of his mouth twitch at it, but he maintained his cordiality and gave to a light laugh. Had the words been said lightly, perhaps Xue Yang’s humor would’ve made some sort of connection, but it didn’t. He said it with a sharp tone, like it meant to condescend.

Xiao Xingchen was careful about when to approach Xue Yang’s abode, watching from the window for Manager Song’s car to pull out. Then he stealthily made his way to the elevators, bent on seeing Xue Yang well and sober, and against Song Lan’s very wishes. When he walked to the gates to their quarter, he almost forgot that he hadn’t had entrance rights. He texted the following:  
[ I come with gifts, ]  
11h13  
It wasn’t a lie, but a joke, so he was still on the safe side of being as honest as he could with Xue Yang. He couldn’t even pocket his phone before there was an immediate reply.  
[ Is it sweet? ]  
11h13  
Again, Xiao Xingchen was a pretty bland guy. He had nothing to offer, and he was sure offering Xue Yang a candy at his age would be most inappropriate.  
[It’s company.]  
11h13  
[Aww, that’s sweet!!! ]  
11h13  
And then Xue Yang texted again.  
[I’m coming! ]  
11h13  
Within two minutes, Xue Yang was opening the quarter doors and smiling up at Xiao Xingchen, but there was something disruptive about his expression. Xingchen caught it instantly, but was prying too pervasive? It was in the little crook of Xue Yang’s eyebrow, a slight bend in the regular arch, his eyes sunken with fatigue. He hadn’t paled, which was a good thing, but the gesture of the young man being affected was deeply unsounding to the older. Xue Yang took his hand instead of his wrist, gently tugging him within the hallway before the closing the door. The entire thing happened a bit more quickly than Xingchen thought was acceptable. Was something scaring Xue Yang? Was he running from something? Did he know what Manager Song had said and was hiding Xingchen?  
Was that too much to hope for?  
Of course. The more he looked, the more Xue Yang appeared to attempt at neutrality. His features tried at relaxing, his eyebrows laying lightly over him, but that slight little arch, that bit of evidence gave way. When Xingchen had arrived in his living room, they spoke of smaller things, smaller than usual, too small for him to take seriously. He wanted something deeper, something beyond the cheap talk of weather forecasts and new shoe designs that interested the other. And then something happened.  
“And it’s starting to get chilly so I don’t see why the fuck you’re always dressed so lightly. What’s gonna’ happen is a few years will hit you and your bones are gonna’ be all brittle because you keep fucking around,” Xue Yang said nonchalantly. He was sipping on soda and hadn’t offered Xingchen anything, no tea, no water, no crackers. Unusual.  
And it was rude. His comment was rude. Xingchen could feel the corner of his mouth twitch at it, but he maintained his cordiality and gave to a light laugh. Had the words been said lightly, perhaps Xue Yang’s humor would’ve made some sort of connection, but it didn’t. He said it with a sharp tone, like it meant to condescend. He was calling Xiao Xingchen or rather, Yuandao old, and for no reason whatsoever.  
“Thank you for looking out for me,” Xingchen said softly.  
“I’m honestly looking out for me, because no one will chill if you’re chilled to the bone. Plus, don’t you get all achy when you’re older? They said your health’s all fucked when you hit them years. Reason why I didn’t give you anything to drink. Gotta’ watch your waist,” Xue Yang told him carelessly, but it wasn’t careless at all. It was all carefully crafted, Xingchen could tell. He must’ve taken time to come up with the cruelest comments he could think of.  
He was trying to push Yuandao away.  
And for what? For what? Yuandao’s eyes wandered the room in search of something to say. Now, Xue Yang was telling him that he’d get fat in old age. What could he say?  
Two could play at this game. Xingchen would not be pushed away before he even arrived. Xue Yang didn’t understand it yet, but their company belonged together. They were almost a perfect duet.  
“They also say diabetes are striking the young. Did you know that can kill you? There’s no cure. There’s so much sugar in those 12 oz little bottles, Xue Yang. I haven’t had soda since I was around your age. It’s the age of stupid decisions. I’m here to help you if you wish to quit, but again, you’re so young that it’s easy to get addicted to trivial things. You’re a good boy, you’ll find a way.” With that, Xingchen patted the young man’s head like he was a child. Xue Yang instantly narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t back down.  
“I mean you totally should. I knew this guy that basically blew up when he hit thirty. Do you see Wei Ying? He takes care of himself, but you’re so skinny, man. Skinny dudes tend to get really fat later on. It’s good that you drink all that green tea.”  
“Chamomile.”  
“Chamomile? Bro, that shit makes you sleep. You can’t be sleeping that much. You gotta’ exercise. Your joints are probably screaming.”  
“Remember, I can’t have caffeine, Xue Yang. There are herbal green teas, but they are a bit strong for me.”  
“Don’t be a wuss, bro.”  
“I actually think you could use a little caffeine yourself. I’ll grab you some. It’ll give you enough time to change out of that hoodie since you have the heat on so high that it’s hard to breath. Murder sure is a mystery. I’ll just be a sec,” Xingchen almost snapped, but the smile on his face was a permanent one, and he could visually see Xue Yang’s jaw slightly drop at his comment.  
“I don’t drink coffee!” Xue Yang called out, stomping his feet to his room to change out of his pullover because it was apparently too hot for his guest even though the temperature was perfect.  
“Xue Yang, you failed to say that before I started brewing your pour-over. Drink it black, it’ll help you get your work done.”  
“I’m still on hiatus,” Xue Yang snapped from his room. Xingchen quickly darted into the living room in search of the binder. It was easily seen under a pile of papers. He spoke again just to keep the rapper busy.  
“Still? Gee, you sure take your breaks seriously. It’s time to get back to work, Kiddo.”  
Xue Yang pulled off his pullover and took a deep breath. Xingchen knew the guy hated being called such. What a perfect opportunity to wound him while he was being an imbecile. This was the guy housing all of the honesty. This was the guy with the perfect lyrics. This was the authentic vulnerability. Xingchen could’ve easily broke down his walls, easily cracked his fragile little heart, easily make him miserable.  
Easy.  
He snatched up the binder and threw it under the sweater he had laying in his seat.  
He needed to hide all of that. He couldn’t allow anyone to see Xue Yang in his current state; the young man was obviously frantic by some event. Why was he pushing Yuandao away? Even going to the extent of bringing in Wei Ying? Comparing them? In physique, Xingchen was now “too thin” compared to the other, maybe because he sat before a laptop all day trying to win Xue Yang’s freedom while Wei Ying was bench pressing. Maybe that was a little too cruel, but the rapper didn’t know. Xue Yang didn’t know a thing. He didn’t even know how to ask for some help.  
“I don’t need coffee, Yuandao. I need – “  
“I have the ability to even make bitter things taste sweet, Xue Yang,” Xingchen told him, because it was true. Xingchen could make the worse scenes seem wonderful. It was his presence. Everyone loved him for being the cool breeze, the angel that he was, except for this little vagrant. This little puny boy in all of his puny rage and all of his big big paranoia.  
“I don’t want coffee. I want to sleep. I just want – “  
“It to end, right? You just want it to end.”  
Xue Yang was silent. His hands were balled into fists, shaking at his side like he would send one of those into Xingchen’s jaw. He finally eased out of them and slid one by his forehead, then ran it through his hair.  
“How did you know?” he asked, voice as tired as his expression.  
“What happened?”  
He didn’t answer right away.  
“Someone vandalized my car.”  
There was a pause. This wasn’t about the car at all. No.  
This was about someone knowing where Xue Yang lived. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry for the late and short chapter. I promise a longer one next week! I thought I had stuff already typed but apparently had nothing and now I have work so no typing :<


	12. The Binder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to figure out who just did that to you, Xue Yang,” Xingchen told him. Xue Yang looked at the floor as if he wasn’t sure what to say. When he glanced back up, he nodded, a smile of his own.

Xingchen successfully attempted to keep his cool, a trivial little thing such as a smile. He placed one hand on Xue Yang’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.

“Well, then, let’s go wipe it off, shall we?” The last thing he wanted to Xue Yang to think about was moving. He couldn’t move – no. He had to stay where Xingchen could see him. Xingchen could keep him safe, and surely from something as narrow minded in offenses as a splatter of paint from a can on a near billion dollar car. They hadn’t wrecked the vehicle. They merely produced reckless art on it. If they meant to offend Xue Yang, the only thing accomplished was that they scared the growing hairs off his arms. That was unacceptable too.

His composed intellect seemed to have nurtured Xue Yang just a bit as the rapper nodded and began to get the things needed to be rid of the graffiti. Under Xingchen’s touch, he could discern a slight shake that emanated from the rapper’s body. He wanted nothing more than to grab him and structure him rigid again, strong, that wild Xue Yang that everyone knew. As they were using the graffiti cleaner on the Bugatti, someone approached from behind. It didn’t take a genius to make out Manager Song’s build, but Xingchen stood his ground. He had a valid reason for being there. He wiped the vehicle harder so Xue Yang wouldn’t have to.

“Xue Yang, are you alright?” Manager Song’s voice was frantic. He obviously had rushed back from whatever business he had. He pulled Xue Yang from the ground and examined him, checking his arms and hands, his face, and tapping his legs.

“Manager Song, I’m fine. Someone just vandalized my car and Yuandao decided to help me out. And by that, I mean he’s cleaning while you’re tapping me down. I’m okay.” Xue Yang’s voice sounded small in comparison to his usual vigor. Just as he turned around, ready to help clean his car, his phone rang, causing him to swear under his breath. But his eyes lit up at the caller I.D.; it was Wei Ying.

When he picked up, he was hardly able to render a “hello,” before his expression dropped even farther. Xingchen had turned around to gaze at him.

“What do you mean someone ran out of your parking lot? Your nephew? What was your nephew going in the parking lot? Playing ball with Fairy…but how did the person get in? You’ve security.” Then something seemed to occur to Xue Yang as he frowned. “Quick, go check your car. Don’t argue, just check your car.”

A second past before Xue Yang closed his eyes and said, “I knew it.” Into the phone he said, “Look, don’t sweat it so much. Someone fucked up my car too. Yuandao’s here. He’s helping me clean it up. I don’t understand why someone went to the extent of hopping your security fence to get to you, like there’s security here but it’s easy to get into the parking if you really tried.”

“Wait a minute,” Xingchen suddenly said, not because he didn’t like the young man speaking to the other but for an actual valid reason. He dropped the rag and rolled under the car, mortifying Xue Yang since he was wearing his usual white attire. It didn’t take long until the man retracted his body and gave Xue Yang a knowing look.

Someone had cut a wire so the vehicle would move nowhere. Someone was trying to make sure Xue Yang couldn’t get away.

“No worries, though,” Xingchen said quickly.

“How can you say that at a time like this?” Manager Song asked, running a hand through his hair.

“We easily fix that by having it taken to the shop, Manager Song. After that, I’ll check the camera footage and see if anything _strange_ happened here.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll just go to security and ask them show me the footage. You should go inside. It’s kind of cold out,” Xue Yang said. He was doing it _again_. Now Xingchen could plainly see the attempt of removing him to keep him uninvolved. The rapper was very much trying to keep him safe, and yet, Xingchen didn’t want to be safe. He wanted the danger that came with trying to earn Xue Yang’s justice back. The binder was upstairs, and the answers had to be somewhere in there. Otherwise, why lock it up?

Xingchen was taking too long to answer again. He pretended like he had blanked out and stared back at Xue Yang with a confused expression.

“I said you can go, Yuandao. It’s cold out. I’ll get the footage,” Xue Yang urged, though he painted it in nonchalance.

“Agreed. It’s cold out, Brother Xi- Yuandao. You should go _inside_,” Manager Song said, obviously telling him to go away. Xingchen’s stomach rolled at the near slip, but he stood firm and smiled.

“Nonsense. I can access the footage, especially if it had been altered. There are different camera angles from this building and other surround buildings. They couldn’t have gotten them all,” Xingchen told them. He took up the rag again and began to clean the vehicle, disregarding anything else they were telling him. Xue Yang had sucked in his lips, bending down to help. The graffiti had been sprawled from the front wheel, across both front and back seat doors, and curved around the trunk. It was wildly done as if the perpetrator had done the deed as quickly as he could, rushed in his hysteria, and ran off before he could be caught. He obviously had not worked alone for he had assaulted the integrity of Wei Ying’s vehicle as well. And for what reason? A quick glance to the left, and Xingchen could make out his pristine white car, that which he seldom drove. It was untouched. Whoever had done this only knew public information. They didn’t know about Xue Yang’s knowing Xingchen, only the public intimacy shared between Xue Yang and Wei Ying online. But in the back of Xingchen’s mind was something of alarm. Whoever had infiltrated the building needed to have access in order to get through the gates. The Jiang’s had the Nie security system, the system almost every wealthy individual afforded themselves. It was almost impossible to access let alone penetrate. Secondly, their apartment complex also adorned the same security, but the most important part was that you needed an admission card as a residence or a visitor in order to get into the lot. The gate was much too high to jump.

This person needed to have been someone working within the Nie security company in order to get around the system. This person also had access to their apartment complex. So far there were two of them.

Xue Yang looked dubious and confused, wiping at his car and most likely sowing the worse of thoughts into his rapper head. Xingchen needed to alleviate that, say something protective and reassuring.

“How are you going to check the footage?” The rapper questioned. For the most part, the graffiti was almost gone.

“How else, Xue Yang? I’m going to hack into it.”

This pleased the rapper for a smile had manifested under his nose. It was just like Xue Yang to get excited over someone else breaking the law. It occurred to Xingchen just then and there that perhaps he was willing to break the law for the other, and for what reason was it? Was it to see a constant smile on the rapper’s face, to look into those sparking green eyes with his bland brown ones, or was it the lyrics he was looking for? Was it the honest words he wanted from Xue Yang, or was it a simple conversation between Xue Chengmei and Xiao Xingchen?

When they got back, Xingchen took a deep breath and allowed Xue Yang and Manager Song into his room. He kept his room door locked where his posters were up around a cozy bed with cozy white sheets and a humble oak bedframe. Xingchen liked to be simple, but he also admired the drastic, and adopted those practices only when it was necessary. When he pulled out his systems and screens, they surrounded him, hovering from the ceiling. He put on headphones and started typing away at the screens, a footpad propped under his foot as he tapped and typed away at the keys. Xue Yang couldn’t erase the smile from his face, sitting beside the other and trying not to get in his way. After a while, Xingchen was able to pull up the footage though it had obviously been disturbed, clipped, and had a previous film added. It wouldn’t been a complication in itself to catch the slight disruption, but Xingchen’s eyes were attuned to such things.

“Wow, dude, if I had this 9 years ago,” Xue Yang said. At his words, Xingchen wanted to laugh badly, but he covered up his unnecessary emotions with a solid smile. Of course, Xue Yang couldn’t used his system 9 years ago to hack into the system and get away with it. At the same time, Xue Yang wouldn’t know how to use it. Xingchen had added to the system over the years, and dabbled in black hat hacking for over a decade.

“So, they removed of the original footage from the building footage anyway. I’ll try with the city camera and see if anything’s there,” Xingchen assured him.

“You’re going to attempt hacking into the city camera? How the hell are you going to do that?”

“Anything’s possible.”

“But _you_? Are you sure you can do it?”

Ah – yes, there was a part of Xiao Xingchen that was tainted after all. He could’ve been arrested with half of the things that he now did, but he always got away. That was the trick that Xue Yang never learned. Xue Yang never felt like dealing with his own cases, rather he just owned up to it. At this point, Xingchen wasn’t even sure if he had done half of the things that he had admitted to doing.

“I’m going to figure out who just did that to you, Xue Yang,” Xingchen told him. Xue Yang looked at the floor as if he wasn’t sure what to say. When he glanced back up, he nodded, a smile of his own.

\---

Xue Yang certainly liked to touch things. He touched the cabinets, the table, the walls, the little knick-knacks Xingchen had lying around, everything. He sniffed candles that weren’t lit, sniffed the tea Yuandao had given him and muttered a “I don’t like tea but do you have honey?” Xingchen had given him honey and a small pitcher of cream, but the rapper behaved like a child, asking him to do it for him. Xingchen did so gladly, Xue Yang disrupting the way the cushions were placed on the couch, turning on the television set despite not watching the it. He flipped through a magazine lying on the table, then stuck his feet into one of Yuandao’s slippers, glancing once at the man to see if he’d get scolded. Xingchen did not scold him but told him to finish all of his tea.

This was the perfect time to ask the question, Manager Song in the kitchen and cooking something small while he was trying to get in touch with the security unit to send someone to watch his rapper. Xingchen allowed them into his home, but not without anxiety in his throat. He constantly eyed his cabinet despite it being closed. He constantly eyed his room door despite it being locked shut. Knowing how curious Xue Yang got, it would be the first place the rapper waddled over to.

Out of Manager Song’s hearing range, Xingchen sat down opposite of Xue Yang, sipping his own tea before he attempted to have the conversation.

“So, I know this is probably something you don’t want to talk about but…”

“Listen, I can talk about anything. I’m not a wuss. I’ll admit it shook me a bit but I’m not afraid,” Xue Yang told him, sipping the tea the way a cat would’ve, before he deemed the taste efficient enough to drink.

“No, not that. I just think that it had something to do with, pardon me, something else.”

“Like what?”

“Do you remember what happened in May four years ago?”

“The fact that I got fucking arrested and got bailed out for the first time ever?” He chuckled, but Xingchen knew the rapper hadn’t found the ordeal funny in the slightest.

“Do you remember anything from the night before? Anything at all?”

“What is your question?” Xue Yang asked, but not maliciously, just asking because he genuinely wanted to know what he’d be answering to. The rapper was an open book. Anyone could read if they’d take a gander.

“Did you do it?”

“Nope.” Xue Yang put down his tea and looked up at the other and smiled his protective smile, the one where the fang was seen. When he met Xingchen’s gaze his smile disappeared.

“You believe me?” The rapper asked.

“Of course, I do.”

“You actually believe me? But why, like why? Why do you believe me?” The rapper sat up from his seat, eyes wide and curious. Xingchen almost wanted to reach out and pet him.

“Tell me what you remember.”

“I…don’t remember anything. I don’t even remember her name.”

“You don’t remember _anything_ from the case?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Can you tell me anything?”

“I asked for her ID because I was suspicious. That’s what I remember. Look, maybe because my memories are all over the place, perhaps, perhaps I actually did it. Why? Does that anger you too?”

“You didn’t do it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You didn’t do it, Xue Yang.”

Manager Song returned with a few sides just to have them eat something as they waited for the entrée. Xingchen wanted nothing more than to return upstairs and grab his coat and the binder. The answers had to be somewhere inside. The longer this charge haunted the rapper, the more the rapper thought himself guilty. The only one thing Xue Yang had left was his ability to recall that he was innocent through that entire case. Xingchen would have it no other way.

“Why so quiet? It’s like you two barely know one another,” Manager Song said, but it was meant to stab Xingchen in the chest. Of course, they didn’t know one another well. Of course, that’s the way Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang were supposed to be. Yuandao was different. Yuandao had some leeway where he could cultivate something like a friendship.

“Of course, we know each other. Don’t take my one other person from me, Manager Song,” Xue Yang joked as he picked up a pickled radish with his fingers.

_I’m his other person, _Xingchen thought, but was it true? If Xingchen gave himself up now, would it be true?

_It doesn’t matter. I’ll be your tread, Xue Yang. Step on me, and gain your freedom._ After dinner when the night came, Xingchen was able to retrieve his coat and the binder without suspicion from Xue Yang at least. Manager Song always stared at him suspiciously. It would be a while before Xingchen could see Xue Yang again.

\---

The next day consisted of Xingchen attempting to open the binder. He was unfortunately booted out by the Nie’s when he attempted to hack into the city camera footage. That was a good sign. It meant that their systematic functions were adequate. Xingchen would dedicate time to it later come the day. Perhaps he would be able to hop the firewall and rewire the system or fool its trajectory. This was one many against an entire cooperate. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to do it and would need to go to them directly for the footage. It was the last thing he wanted to do, a last resort that would most likely require a lawsuit in order for him to obtain.

Then it struck him that Nie Huaisang was the second heir to the company and also one of Wei Wuxian’s best friends. Perhaps Wei Ying could pester him for the footage without taking the ordeal to court. That could wait a minute.

He took out utensils to prod the lock, picking at it until he heard the click as it opened. Breathing a sigh of relief, he placed the lock beside him and flipped through the pages. They were all handwritten pieces dated after the incident, compressed against the pages with something like anger. Of course, Xue Yang had been angry when he wrote them, but did they give Xingchen what he wanted?

_I’m not the devil you take me for granted_

_ Hold my hands behind my back yet if ever I transplanted_

_ My right as the male card, a female enchanted_

_ Would I stand where I stand today ever so stranded?_

Nope. He flipped the page.

_Something like lust something like love_

_ Something like must something like gov_

_ Governed by the system governed by your right_

_ Take what you want whatever you might_

Nope. He flipped the page.

_Tricked me tricked me I fucking took the bait_

_ Clicked me clicked me with every lie you make_

_ Clicked my hands behind my back and told me that you hate_

_ Every detail that I give you it’s nothing that you’ll take_

_ A murder is a murder an eye for an eye_

_ And if that’s the case, why the fuck would I lie_

Something, but not what he needed. He began to breathe in the hands of frustration when he finally saw something of a longer verse. It was visited a few times, different notes put together to make the piece. It read as the following:

_Why’d you have the heart to fail me now, I guess I’ll never know_

_Carrying all of my self hatred, my defenses laying low_

_I counted seconds as they past, writing time by the minute_

_Motivated by yourself when did I become a cynic?_

_Do I, did I qualify? Can you, could you mollify it? _

_Didn’t modify the facts, where’s my alibi, where’s he at?_

_The duration of time just doesn’t add the fuck up_

_My damnation, this crime, it was flowing from the cup_

_Just one word, it ain’t matter, you weren’t the one affected_

_All the shit you put together, evidence you collected_

_I called out the bullshit, bias, propaganda you directed _

_What kinda verdict points at me, allows me to be disrespected?_

_Of course you thought I’d done it, I’m the one wearing the pants_

_If you’d actually look, it wasn’t ‘happen to be’ chance. _

_It you’d actually take a look not just a fucking glance._

_If you look it was my finance, if you questioned my advance_

_If you did anything at all you’d notice I was in a trance_

_It was money, it was profit, it was vomit to my chocolate_

_What mattered wasn’t the wallet, was the tears that fell in droplets_

_I’m condemned from the mayhem, lock me up til the AM_

_Staying up, wide awake, scream alone til I break_

_I said I was innocent, never was my character so militant _

_Look wisely for my actions they seem a little more intricate_

_Then a film without the hearing, then a film without the sound_

_Then the first group disappearing, if you’d look at the background_

_There’s things that’s worth questioning, things you just didn’t ask_

_There must’ve been some messaging, a few people wearing masks_

_All you did was put me away, guilty until proven, couldn’t sway_

_Your intellect for what it was, condemn me just because_

_And I know I won’t care a few years from today_

_When you think you do you don’t, cause when I left I was betrayed_

_It was them it was the system, can’t you see I was a victim?_

_Please just look at the facts, I’m begging you_

_There will be cracks, I’m begging you. There will be cracks. _

It’s what he needed or something that he thought he needed. Xue Yang pleaded innocence and was innocent. The rapper knew – he may be forgetting now but when it happened, he knew he had been innocent. Before Xingchen knew it himself, he was typing the lyrics onto his laptop and opening digital sticky notes to keep track of his thoughts. It was here. For some reason, it just had to be this verse. He had called the song “CIGARETTE.”

Xue Yang never named his songs after anything but candy. Why was this song called cigarette? Was he just upset and decided to do something else? Was it just his frantic thinking that came out on the page? Xingchen stared for hours, typing and jotting random thoughts in the form of scribbles on his notebook. His legs numbed over the course of time until he realized he desperately needed to stand up and perhaps stretch. Instead, he tapped his feet until he could feel them again, sitting there until the window darkened with the night, the only light stemming from his laptop screen. He had plugged and unplugged his laptop a few times for full and low battery. When the sun began to slowly manifest in the sky like a solution, he dropped his writing implements and stared at the screen, aghast. His thoughts began to make sense. Xue Yang wasn’t simply stating that he was innocent. He had told a story of exactly what happened, and now Xingchen had to detangle it. He began to speak to the screen as though the answers to his questions would seep through.

[_Why’d you have the heart to fail me now, I guess I’ll never know. Carrying all of my self hatred, my defenses laying low_.] People who had rooted for Xue Yang abandoned him, so as he carried his self image, he was in a weakened state. Of course, he would bring himself to the bar. He may have been celebrating but he had no one to celebrate with.

[_I counted seconds as they passed, writing time by the minute. Motivated by yourself when did I become a cynic?_]“He had been waiting for someone and was full of distrust. If that’s the case, why would he have spoken to the girl?” Xingchen asked no one.

[_Do I, did I qualify? Can you, could you mollify it? Didn’t modify the facts, where’s my alibi, where’s he at?_ ] “Were you the candidate for someone’s anger? Why bring up an alibi all of the sudden? Was someone there that night with you?”

[_The duration of time just doesn’t add the fuck up. My damnation, this crime, it was flowing from the cup._] The time frame by which Xue Yang was there must’ve not corresponded to his “deeds.” By then, his crime had already taken affect, meaning it had to be premediated. It was planned? “Xue Yang, did you know that someone had something against you?”

[_Just one word, it ain’t matter, you weren’t the one affected. All the shit you put together, evidence you collected. I called out the bullshit, bias, propaganda you directed. What kinda verdict points at me, allows me to be disrespected?_] Xue Yang was right. The case had been in favor of the female part in the beginning. The evidence that they had pulled together was never to assist Xue Yang with his charge; it was to be sure that he was imprisoned.

[_Of course you thought I’d done it, I’m the one wearing the pants. If you’d actually look, it wasn’t ‘happen to be’ chance_.] Something must’ve provoked him to go and speak to the girl. They didn’t just happen to have come on to one another.

[_It you’d actually take a look not just a fucking glance. If you look it was my finance, if you questioned my advance_.] Why had he gone to speak to her? What was it?

[_If you did anything at all you’d notice I was in a trance. It was money, it was profit, it was vomit to my chocolate_.] Xingchen froze. Trance here could _not _have been the fact that Xue Yang was so captured by the girl’s beauty that he was in a trance. He had dated actress Wu Chunhua for goodness’ sake. If he was able to dump her come the following two months, there’s no way he would have been enamored by a mere teenager. It was also not in Xue Yang’s character to just “fall in a trance” for someone. The incident had given the rapper trust issues but so did Xingchen. By time this incident happened, Xue Yang had already been on guard. “Xue Yang…” Xingchen called softly. He pulled his browser and notes free from his desktop and stared at the image of Xue Yang. He touched the hair of the screen and when he spoke again his voice cracked. It asked, “were you drugged?” He breathed into his palms and paused for another moment. He needed the moment. He ached in every direction, felt the pang of hunger and thirst, and now an uncomely dread in his stomach. What if _Xue Yang_ had been raped? What if no one was raped at all? What if they simply took some of Xue Yang’s fluid and placed it on her clothing? Then again, what were the actual details of the case again? Something had happened to the evidence. The trial was not placed where people could see it. Xingchen did not know the particulars. He slowly pulled his browser and notes back up to finish pulling the pieces together.

[_What mattered wasn’t the wallet, was the tears that fell in droplets. I’m condemned from the mayhem, lock me up til the AM. Staying up, wide awake, scream alone til I break. I said I was innocent, never was my character so militant_.] Xue Yang even stared here that his character wasn’t belligerent. He went to the extent of explaining how trapped he was by his feelings when he had been imprisoned. He was sensitive not combative.

[_Look wisely for my actions they seem a little more intricate. Then a film without the hearing, then a film without the sound. Then the first group disappearing, if you’d look at the background_.] That’s another thing, because of China’s privacy act, the audio was taken from footage. It was either the audio stayed or the footage stayed. Most placed opted for the video. What ever was exchanged between him and the female was not clear. Another note, there was someone else that had been present but disappeared right last minute. Even Xue Yang, the victim, had known that there was another party.

[_There’s things that’s worth questioning, things you just didn’t ask. There must’ve been some messaging, a few people wearing masks_.] “Is there someone acting like someone they’re not? Who are the people wearing masks?” By now, Xingchen could hear the frustration in his own voice. He needed to use the restroom badly but didn’t want to move from his seat.

The rest of it was just a plea for help. Xue Yang had given him enough for him to start digging. What ever occurred in the courtroom, Xue Yang had seen it. They must’ve used the no audio film to show him taking the girl from the club. Nothing that was used would’ve put Xue Yang in a good light. But they couldn’t make the arrest from the accusation alone. Perhaps, all of the footage showed them that Xue Yang looked guilty, but even in the lyrics, Xingchen could see that Xue Yang himself knew he looked guilty but wasn’t.

“Am I relying too much on just your words, Xue Yang? Am I doing the right thing? If I open this case up, will you hate Yuandao too?” Xingchen asked the screen. It didn’t reply but he knew who would. When he called Wei Wuxian, he felt tears in his eyes. He couldn’t do this alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, writing two mysteries at once is killing me and my brain. Literally trying to create this entire story from one conversation I had with my sis where all characters are different so it's...HARD, and also not working out, lol.   
Btw, you guys have pretty much read 50 pages of this - that's 100 pages basically in book form! I can't believe you guys are still reading. Thank you so much! ♥♥♥


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